


Winter Roses: Summer

by fairytalelovr



Series: Winter Roses [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon and Dany grow up together, Jon thinks he's Ned's son, Multi, No Jon x Robert fight, Not for fans of Catelyn!, R plus L equals J, Viserys still goes to Essos, no adultery other than Robert and Cersei, no affairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 199,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalelovr/pseuds/fairytalelovr
Summary: Completely AU from the end of the Rebellion!After Ned takes Jon from the Tower of Joy, he stops by King's Landing to see Robert crowned. There, they discover the former Queen had died in childbed. But while Prince Viserys escaped Dragonstone, the baby Daenerys was not born soon enough and was brought to the capital to face justice for her family's crimes.This story is about Robert allowing Daenerys to live in Winterfell, betrothed to Jon to sully her line, rather than disgrace himself by murdering a baby.





	1. Prologue — The Betrothal

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Rosas de Inverno](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379474) by [fairytalelovr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalelovr/pseuds/fairytalelovr)
  * Inspired by [Her Life and Her Death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158934) by [magicmoon111](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicmoon111/pseuds/magicmoon111). 
  * Inspired by [The Court of Bastards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12095922) by [MariDark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariDark/pseuds/MariDark). 



> This story is an AU but will incorporate elements from mostly the show, as I haven't read the books.

Ned looked to the child in his arms, Lyanna’s words echoing in his ears despite his sister having fallen silent over an hour ago. The boy was quiet, but his eyes were open and curious, even though the maid had told him the baby was only hours old. Eyes that were dark, though Ned knew babies’ eyes changed after birth. The wispy hair on the top of the child’s head was the same dark brown of Lyanna’s, the Stark brown. It was said that Targaryens had magic in their blood, and that is why they married within the family, to keep the magic strong. Perhaps the magic in the boy understood having silver hair and indigo eyes, like his father, rather than status would be only a death sentence.

He looked up as he heard heavy footsteps. It was Howland, coming down the hallway, limping a bit, though his wounds had been seen to. “Maid told me what happened. I’m sorry, Ned. I know you only wanted to save her.”

Ned nodded. “Nothing we could do, after all. Guess it makes sense now why Rhaegar left his best men behind.”

“To protect a bastard?”

Ned winced. “Lyanna wouldn’t have done that. I… honestly, it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone, Rhaegar is gone. By now Stannis will have taken Dragonstone. House Targaryen is over.”

Howland nodded. “What… what are you going to do? You… you saw what happened to Rhaegar’s other children. And he… this baby has a stronger claim than Robert, than anyone else. If people were to find out…”

Ned sighed. “I… I hate to ask this of you, my friend, especially when you have just saved my life. But Lyanna asked me, on her deathbed, to protect her son, and that I will do. For such, no one must know who he really is.” Howland frowned. “I will claim him as my son.”

The other man was shocked. “Ned, but… you… and Lady Stark! How…”

“I will not be the first lord to have a bastard, nor will I be the last.”

“He will be forever tainted by that.”

“But he will be alive. Robert trusts me. He won't think twice about it. No one will.”

Howland nodded. “You have my word. I swear, on my and my family’s honour, for everything I owe your sister, that I shall never speak of this to anyone else.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The trip from Dorne back to King’s Landing was long and hard, especially the stop at Starfall. The maid that had been with Lyanna was in fact a woman from the village whose child had perished from a fever less than a week before, so she had vowed to keep the secrecy if she could care for the baby. “My babe was taken from me, milord, and the Princess was ever so kind, to send food and aid once she heard my little Rya was sick. Even the Prince, he sent his maester down to my hut before the man died. My payment for their kindness will be to protect their babe.”

And as such the matter of the child’s wet-nurse was handled. Next, Ned needed to prepare his sister’s body for the voyage. The High Septon himself brought three Silent Sisters on the next morning. “I was saddened to hear, I was,” the man said. “They were so young and in love! Of course, I worried when the Prince asked me for his annulment, but then once he told me about… the annulment was correctly given, Lord Stark, and my Septas assured me the next morning that on their wedding night your sister was pure. So it was all done very correctly.”

Ned wasn’t sure if it was as much consolation as the man had hoped. “I’m sure you understand, Your High Holiness…”

“No one will ever hear the truth from my lips, I swear it. No one will know what happened here in this Tower. The Sisters I’ve brought can’t read or write, and they’ve sworn a vow of silence. Even if they wanted to — which they don’t — they couldn’t tell anyone the nature of the Princess’ death.”

Ned thanked the man. “You are, of course, welcome to join my group as we make our way back to the capital, your High Holiness. Now that it’s safe to return to the city.”

The man smiled and accepted the offer, leaving the room Ned had taken as a solar. Sighing, the northerner went back to organising their contingent. They were no longer a handful of men riding hard to save a distressed woman (who had never been in distress in the first place). Now he had to account for Lyanna’s bones, Howland’s wound, the baby, and his wet-nurse. And the High Septon.

The arrival in King’s Landing was not as he had hoped either. He’d told the nurse to stay as quiet and out of the way as possible, hoping the seven months it took him to return to the capital would have made it reasonable to be believed he had stopped somewhere to pick up his bastard son. Or at least that no one would question that in his grief for losing his sister, Lord Eddard Stark had forgotten his vows and allowed a woman to console him.

As it turned out, Robert was too distressed over the box with Lyanna’s remains to care. It was only on the next afternoon, as Ned was watching the nurse take the baby for a walk in the sun, from the balcony of the chambers Robert had given him that the new King approached.

“So, whose is the child?”

“Mine,” Ned said, hoping his friend would take his blushing for shame and not guilt. “I'm not proud of it, but I have claimed the boy.”

“Ha! You! With a bastard!”

“I'm no saint, Robert. We were at war. I'm a man. And my wife is all the way in Riverrun.”

“You could’ve left the boy. Sent some money.”

“This was my misstep and I’ll take responsibility for it. The boy comes home to Winterfell with me.”

“And what’s his name?”

“Jon,” Ned said. _His name is Aegon Targaryen_. “Jon Snow.”

“But the surname should come…”

“It matters not who his mother is, let alone where she is from. He is my son, and he will be raised in Winterfell. His name is Jon Snow.”

“A whore, then?”

Ned clenched his jaw. He knew Robert would keep asking until he got an answer and then wouldn’t care about it again. “Wylla was her name.”

“Pretty?”

“I was too drunk — we’d just won a battle.”

“Ha! Didn’t I tell you? Nothing gets the blood flowing better!” Robert laughed, as if it was the funniest joke in the world. “What happened to her?”

Ned was growing each moment more uncomfortable. He was shit at lying. “Don’t know, don’t care. For all I know, she’s still a whore. I offered a pension, but she said no. She wanted to send the boy to an orphanage. No interest in being a mother. So I took him.”

“I could legitimise him, you know,” Robert said, looking at the boy again. “Say the word and I’ll sign the damn paper.”

Ned blushed. On one hand, no child deserved to grow up a bastard. But then again, he had to think about Catelyn and the shame he was already forcing upon her. He knew his nephew was a few months younger than his son, so there would be no question on the line of succession — and bastards, legitimised or not, always ranked behind all trueborns. On the other hand… to legitimise him would spike people’s curiosities. Especially about his mother. And Ned really was shit at lying. The less people who asked, the better. Besides, even legitimised, Jon would never be treated the same as a trueborn.

“No. Catelyn… she doesn’t deserve this. We haven’t had a proper marriage so far, what with the war keeping us apart, but she is my wife and she deserves better. It’s enough that I’m claiming him and bringing him to Winterfell.”

“Your Grace,” called a squire, interrupting a conversation that had gone on too long already. “Your Lord Brother has just returned…”

Ned almost sighed in relief. He knew his friend. Robert very rarely took interest in things to ask twice about them, unless it was a particularly pesky whore, a good wine, or a worthy opponent. The chances of him asking about Jon’s origins again were slim.

“Well, that knucklehead certainly took his time! Where is he?” the King asked.

“In the Small Council Chamber, Your Grace. He wishes to speak with you, Lord Stark, and Lord Arryn as soon as possible.”

Ned followed the King, relieved that Robert had bought the lie without question. Once they entered the right room, Jon was already there, conversing with a clearly distraught Stannis, as a young woman held a baby nearby.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I’ve taken Dragonstone, Your Grace,” said Stannis. “My men are securing the castle as we speak.”

“And the baby dragon and his infernal mother? Where are the last two of that retched family?”

“Viserys escaped, brother. I know not whether they were tipped off or if they knew we would come eventually, but servants said three loyalists absconded with the boy to Essos. The former Queen died,” at this Robert laughed, but Stannis wasn’t finished. “In childbed.”

The King’s laugh died abruptly, finally realising what the baby in the room meant. “And you bring it here! Your orders were—”

“My orders were to secure Dragonstone and bring the last of the Targaryens to justice. I have fulfilled those orders. I will not, however, murder a babe just for the sake of your revenge.”

“Take care of how you speak!”

“Take care of how you behave!”

“Enough!” Jon interrupted. “You are brothers, behave as such! Lord Stannis is right, Your Grace, you gave him orders and he has fulfilled them. He brought the Targaryen he was able to find so you could dispense justice.”

“Please,” the woman begged, “she is but a babe! Just a babe, barely out of her mother’s womb, innocent of any crimes!”

“No Targaryen is innocent!” Robert yelled.

“Robert, be reasonable,” Ned interfered, understanding why the cold Stannis had asked for his presence, “the girl is days old. You can't blame her for the name she carries.”

In the back of his mind, Ned knew all too well the name the little boy he was protecting carried. _His name is Aegon Targaryen_. What if anyone else had found Lyanna before Ned himself? What would his nephew’s fate have been? _You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned_. Had Rhaella had time to beg the same? Would she even have tried with Stannis Baratheon, who was no kin to her?

“Targaryens murdered your father, brother, and sister!” Robert exclaimed. “The woman I loved!”

“The Mad King murdered my father and brother, and he has paid for his crimes. Rhaegar kidnapped my sister,” Ned clenched his jaw at the lie — besmirching the honour of his good-brother was the only way to save his son, so he hoped the man would understand, “and he is also dead. That girl has committed no crime. Do you really want your reign to begin by murdering babies in their cribs?”

Robert clenched his jaw. It had been bad enough when Tywin Lannister had the Prince and Princess murdered along with their mother. “Very well. She won't be killed. But she will not be rewarded either. House Targaryen is finished. She is stripped of all her titles. Send her to an orphanage for all I care,” the new King decreed.

The others in the room paled. An orphanage was no place for a highborn girl, be her stripped of her family titles or not. “Perhaps we should consider…” Jon hesitantly started.

“No considerations! I won't have a child flaunting about and threatening my throne! It’s not as if there aren’t Targaryen loyalists still lurking! I want her poor, honourless, and supportless! And if she shows the smallest hint of madness, I’ll have her killed at once!”

“Robert!” Ned exclaimed. “Kill the girl then, instead of leaving her to die slowly. You know what happens to girls in orphanages! She’ll be raped before she turns ten!”

The maid started to cry, bothering the baby, who also started to whimper in protest.

“Raped like your sister!” the King bellowed. Ned bit back a response. To offer too much kindness would be suspicious, but the babe was his family now too. “You know, I’ve decided! I want her weak, so let’s weaken her! Some might support the Mad King’s daughter if they think she’s not like her father, but no one would support a bastard line!”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, apprehensive.

“Rhaegar Targaryen stole a daughter of House Stark and ruined her, leading to her father’s and brother’s deaths. Nothing more fitting that House Stark should be responsible for the fate of the last daughter of House Targaryen.”

Ned felt cold gripping his heart. Robert was always unreasonable when he was blinded by what he felt for Lyanna.

“Ned! You have a bastard son! A son set to inherit no lands and make no good marriage. Very well, I give him a bride. He will marry the Targaryen girl!”

The room was frozen for a beat. “Robert, I can't…”

“Nonsense! Your son is a Snow, you just said so yourself. He’ll marry the girl, have a highborn bride, what is much more than any bastard can expect, and they shall have a castle and lands. I'm sure you can find an empty keep in the North, give them a lesser title. They’ll live up there, a dragon in the ice! This way she is hidden from the world and no one can accuse me of mistreating babies!”

Ned didn’t know what to do. Honestly to wed aunt and nephew! _But no one knows he is her nephew_ , he thought, _no one can know_. And how to refuse, really? What Robert had just done was an honour. How to refuse without an explanation? _You have to protect him, Ned_. He nodded his acceptance. They were Targaryens, after all. Targaryens married brother and sister. What were aunt and nephew in that?

“Wonderful!” Robert yelled. “The girl will be raised…”

“In Winterfell,” Ned said. He knew what Robert would say, that he’d have the girl in Court, just so she’d be humiliated and laughed at by everyone. That was going too far.

“But Ned…”

“If she is to wed my son, I’d like to oversee her education.”

“I hardly think it’s proper,” said Stannis, “to have them grow up in the same castle.”

“Are you implying that I can't teach manners to my son? That I would allow dishonour in my own home?”

“Nothing of the sort, Lord Stark.”

“Oh, what does it matter!” said Robert. “She’ll be marrying a bastard. Let them speak.”

So Ned returned to his chambers to arrange for the extra members of their contingent, his headache — an ever-present companion since being shooed away from his dying sister’s side, holding his nephew — growing.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“You bring a bastard home and expect me to foster him!” Catelyn yelled.

Ned recoiled. “I can't express how sorry I am to have broken my vows and shame you in this manner. But the boy is my responsibility and I won't dishonour that.”

“His very presence dishonours your name and your House!”

“Catelyn, please. I have wronged you, and for that I can only say I know I was wrong and hope you can forgive me. But the child is innocent.”

“And to bring a Targaryen! To force you to marry your bastard to the daughter of the man who murdered your father and brother!”

Ned sighed. Honestly that was the least of his concerns. “As I said, I can't blame a babe for the crimes her father committed before she was even born.”

Catelyn huffed and burst out of the room, furious. Ned was certain she was going to make her fury known for the next weeks perhaps months. Of course, the gossip had reached Riverrun that Ned Stark had had a bastard during the war, so Catelyn had been quite cold as she reached Winterfell that morning with their infant son, whom Ned had decided to name after his friend.

He rubbed his forehead as Benjen walked into the room, barred the door, and poured them ale. “So, of whom is the child?”

Ned rolled his eyes. “I've said his mother is…”

Benjen looked seriously at his brother. “Ned. I know my siblings. Who do you think helped Lyanna leave?”

“You cannot…!”

“I do regret the outcome, of course, but I do not regret helping my sister. So, again, of whom is the boy?”

Ned sighed, and nodded. Benjen exhaled, sitting back on his chair. “Now that is a nice kettle of fish we have on our hands. How’d he manage it? Convinced the High Septon?”

Ned nodded. “Don't know on what grounds. But I made my sister a promise on her deathbed. I will honour that. Robert can never know.”

“There's been worse cases in that family,” Benjen agreed with a sigh. “I should've been there with you. Could’ve claimed him as mine. Then you wouldn't have had trouble with the Lady.”

Ned waived dismissively. “It's done, and I don't regret it,” he sighed. “My wife came home with one son and now she has three babies to care for. What kind of a husband am I?”

“An honourable one, who cares about his family. Perhaps you should tell her.”

“No. This secret has already been told to enough people. If she learns the truth she might one day let it slip if someone goads her about her husband’s bastard. I can't take that risk.”

“What will you do about the betrothal?”

“Find an empty keep. Robert said he'll send some funds, but I doubt it'll be enough, so the lands should be able to sustain themselves, and produce quick profit to support the building or maintenance of the castle. Howland had a suggestion, and I was thinking to go see it. The Blessed Island. It’s very defensive, even in ruins. We can make it into a trading spot on the Narrow Sea, and they’ll have taxes. And they could take fish from the sea.”

“This might take more years than we have,” Benjen said worriedly.

“Maybe. But they can live here in the meantime. Can I… I know you spoke of joining the Watch...”

“I won't. At least not now. From Lady Stark’s fury, you'll need all the help you can get.”

 

* * *

 

 

Thanks everyone for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated. If people like it, I intend to continue it and turn it to a longer story, so let me know your opinions.

Also, a shout-out to magicmoon111, who inspired this work — I really reccommend you go read her fic, it's really good


	2. 01 Winter roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15 years after the prologue, Jon and Dany have grown up and are waiting for the day of their wedding.  
> Life in Winterfell is about to see some changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: thanks so much for all the love and support! I was not expecting so much response, so really, thank you.  
> Now: this chapter has a time jump, or rather, the bulk of the story begins now, at the same point of time as the books / show, the day the Stark men go see Ned behead the Night's Watch deserter. The setting is very similar to what we saw on episode 1 “Winter is Coming”, the first scene picking up right after Arya hits bull’s eye and Bran runs after her. Check the end notes for clarification on the timeline.  
> Without further ado: Enjoy!

Daenerys watched as Bran took off after Arya. The girl had a natural gift, to have such good aim while forbidden to practise as often as she’d please. Jon looked up and blushed when he saw her, turning back to collecting the arrows.

“You know, perhaps you wouldn’t blush like a green boy—”

“Robb, please, not again,” Jon complained.

Robb laughed. “You’re too easy, Jon.”

“And you are too much of a flirt.”

“Well, what can I do, I don’t have a girl like that waiting for me,” Robb said pointing his head to where Daenerys still stood, watching them. “I hope my wife will be just as lovely.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Well, at least you’ll be able to argue with Father if you’re displeased.”

Robb narrowed his eyes. “You cannot be saying that you don’t like her. Come on! It’s Dany!”

“I know, I know. I'm just… you know, we could have turned out to hate each other. And the betrothal wouldn’t have been unmade.”

“Alright, I hear you,” Robb said, chuckling as Rickon tried to wrangle the arrows from the target, and then going to help.

Jon chuckled too, sparing Daenerys a look and a small smile as he continued his task. She smiled back, but felt a flash of anger as she saw him look up, knowing just who was up in the balustrade by the look on his face. She cleared her throat, drawing his attention.

“You know she doesn’t like it when we talk,” Jon said as he reached her, right beneath where Lady Stark still stood.

Daenerys huffed. “If she had her way, you’d be packed up and sent off to the farthest place from Winterfell, the cold woman.”

“She…”

“Don’t defend her!” Daenerys snapped in a low voice, aware that if Lady Stark heard them talking, she’d come and force them apart. As usual.

Jon sighed, knowing arguing wouldn’t help. It wasn’t like it was the first time they had this argument either. And it wasn’t like Daenerys wasn’t right.

“I heard gossip Theon dragged you and Robb to the brothel in town the other day,” the girl continued.

Jon rolled his eyes. “I knew this would get to you,” he mumbled. “Theon tricked us. Well, me. Robb was in on it. I swear I didn’t do anything.”

“Are you afraid I’d react like Lady Stark?” Daenerys asked with a smile.

He shrugged. “I…”

She stealthily pushed him into a dark room, hiding them from view of anyone else, and pulled him to a kiss. “Just in case you need reminding of what you already have.”

Jon smiled, drawing her in to another kiss. “I know that very well,” he said and then blushed. “I know… I know we’re getting married because the King decreed…”

“Don’t you want to marry me?”

He looked straight into her eyes, fire burning in his grey ones. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to marry you. You’re my best friend, Dany. You’re the only one who truly gets what’s it like to be here but be an outsider.”

She smiled. “Good. Because I have… I have something to tell you,” she blushed a bit and Jon frowned. Daenerys _never_ blushed. “I… there was blood in my bed this morning,” she rolled her eyes when he still looked confused. “I’ve flowered, Jon.”

He felt his heart fail a beat. “Oh. I… I…”

“I asked my maid to keep it quiet for the day. I wanted to tell you first.”

“Why?”

She bit her lip. “I know… as you said… we both… we both want to get married, regardless of the King deciding such when we were only babies. But… it’s custom that, when the betrothal is made between babes, the wedding happens once the bride flowers. That means that when Lady Stark finds out, she’ll start planning the ceremony and we’ll be wed within a moon.”

“You don’t… you don’t want that?” Jon asked with a frown.

She blushed deeper, crimson now against her pale skin. “I do. You know I do. You’re my best friend too, Jon. But I don’t want to force you to do it. I don’t want it to be any more forced than it already is. If you’d rather wait…”

He cut her off by pulling her tightly against him and kissing her senseless, deeper and more passionate than he’d ever allowed any of their previous kisses to grow. “I don’t. Want to wait, that is. Unless you’d rather have a little more time.”

Her cheeks were nearly purple now. “No, I… I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“Snow!” came Theon’s voice from outside. “Snow! Lord Stark is calling! We’re riding out! They caught a deserter!”

Jon sighed, knowing what it meant. “I’ll talk to Lady Stark while you’re gone,” Daenerys said, caressing his cheek. “She’ll be thrilled at the chance of getting rid of us.”

“Me, you mean. She never minded you.”

Daenerys laughed. “She puts up with me because I'm trueborn, and a princess at that, and I’m also nothing to Lord Stark. She never liked me. If it were up to her, she’d have thrown us both out over the walls of the keep the moment she rode in to find out we existed.”

Jon chuckled, kissed her lightly one last time and went to find Theon and the others. Daenerys left the room through the other entrance and went in search of Catelyn, finding her discussing some household arrangement with Maester Luwin. All three of them went to the Lady’s solar.

“Flowered, you say?”

“Yes, Lady Stark. My bed was stained this morning.”

“And why didn’t you tell anyone sooner?”

“I wanted to tell you myself, but you were with Lord Stark, watching Bran. I thought it wouldn’t matter to wait but a few hours.”

“No, I suppose not. Maester Luwin, if you’d be so kind as to tell Septa Mordane we’ll be in need of a maiden cloak and then see what we’ll need to have a feast prepared. I suppose it’s time we talk about your wifely duties.”

Daenerys was mortified at the end of the conversation. Of course, Lady Stark was an honourable lady, and would take her ‘duties’ seriously. But growing up with other girls and even eavesdropping when Theon, Robb, and Jon talked made it seem like it was worlds of difference between the truth and what Lady Catelyn was saying. Perhaps that was why men went to look for women in brothels, because their wives were like planks of wood. Then she relaxed. She and Jon had first kissed just over a year before, and though he never let it go any further than that, she couldn’t imagine that it could become so unpleasant to do so. Lord Stark summoned them both to his solar before supper.

“Lady Stark told me the news,” Ned said and they were all sitting. “You understand this means you will wed soon.”

“Yes, Fa—” Jon caught himself, clearing his throat. He’d long ago learned not to call him ‘Father’ in front of others or Lady Stark. “Yes, Lord Stark.”

Ned frowned. He’d never wondered why Jon would call him ‘Lord Stark’ in front of others, but here they were… he noticed how the boy had his head low. Jon never had his head low while training with the others or in any other situation he could remember. More than once Ned had thought that the royalty in his blood was undeniable, by the way he carried himself. It wasn’t until he saw Catelyn’s look that he understood. Had she really… well, he knew she’d never been warm to Jon, but… apparently he’d never been alone in the same room with only the two of them before.

“In normal circumstances,” Ned went on, hiding his thoughts, “it would be customary to give the other lords and ladies two or three moon-turns to come to Winterfell. However, you live in the same castle and there’s been enough talk. Therefore, to avoid… un-pleasantries, I’d rather have the two of you married sooner rather than later. Besides, if you’re married, people at the capital will lower their voices about rumours of madness.”

Daenerys shivered. Lord Stark had told her a while ago, once the first rumours arose, about the threat she represented to Robert Baratheon’s reign and precisely why the King had decreed her marriage to Jon. Right now, only rumours of her having the same madness of her father protected Robert’s throne. After the wedding, the King would rest easy for having sullied her line. The fool.

“Maester Luwin is composing the letters as we speak,” Ned continued, “to send ravens to the other Northern houses. You will be wed a moon-turn from now.”

“Does that mean we’ll go to the Blessed Island then, Lord Stark?” Daenerys asked. She’d like nothing more than to move to their new home and get rid of Lady Stark’s haunting presence, even if she’d miss the others dearly.

“No, I don’t think that would be the best. Construction is still underway in the main keep and the bridges, so it’s vulnerable. The glasshouse is also not finished, so you’ll have trouble growing the food and will have to buy it, but you won’t have the taxes from the harbour yet. There’s no rush for you to leave. No reason you can’t stay at Winterfell until the Blessed Island is better equipped to receive you.” Ned didn’t miss the anger that crossed Catelyn’s face. He’d have to talk to her. “Have you decided on the name of your House and your sigil?”

“Yes,” Jon said, biting back a smile. That decision had come after a particularly good encounter in the godswood. “We have chosen House Starling.”

“We, you say,” said Catelyn derisively.

Jon didn’t answer. “ _We_ ,” Daenerys continued, “have also decided that our sigil will be a blue winter rose with one silver star in each petal.”

Ned fell back on his chair, barely biting back a gasp. “A… a winter rose, you say. How… how did you come to choose that?”

Jon merely shrugged. Ned couldn’t believe it. Maybe some things couldn’t be kept hidden, after all. “I’ll have our painter make a sketching for your approval before he starts painting the banners,” he said. “Lady Stark will inform Septa Mordane so the proper embroidering can begin. Jon, if you could stay a moment, I’d like to go over the latest plans of your castle before supper.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys was delighted with Sansa’s enthusiasm. Not that everyone wasn’t in a tizzy already with the full day today — news of the upcoming wedding and the six direwolves pups the men had brought from their outing had kept everyone gossiping excitedly.

The younger girl wouldn’t stop talking about the many things they’d have to rush embroidering over the next moon. “And what are your colours going to be?” the little redhead asked, a box with a full array of coloured threads in her hands. “Stark colours are grey and white, and I know Targaryen are red and black. So what did you and Jon choose?”

Daenerys smiled indulgently. Lord Stark had asked to keep ‘private’ the notion that the reason they were creating a new House wasn’t because Jon didn’t have a name to give, but rather because King Robert had insisted on erasing any ties to the Targaryen name — normally it would have been expected that the wife’s name, or at least her sigil and colours would be taken.

“Well, our sigil is the _blue_ winter rose, so I believe that is an obvious choice. The stars recall the grey, so there’s that. And Jon suggested we had some part of the uniform as red, but I'm not sure—”

“Not wise at all,” said Catelyn sharply.

Daenerys squared her shoulders. “My betrothed’s opinion matters more to me, and _his father_ seems to think there will be no harm if it’s only a memory. It won't present on our banners in any case.”

Catelyn clenched her jaw and left the room in a fit of temper. “You should heed your words, my Lady,” said Septa Mordane, who clearly disapproved. “Let’s start on your maiden cloak and wedding dress. Well, the dress is mostly done, but we have to embroider the roses.”

And with that, the matter was closed. Daenerys sighed. She hated stitching. She wished she could do as Arya and find a way to evade the lesson, but they couldn’t both be absent if they didn’t want the Septa to notice. Praising Sansa was enough to distract the woman to allow one of them rest and it was Daenerys’ turn to attend. Besides, she couldn’t be conspicuously missing from the lesson on her own wedding clothes.

Resigned, the bride-to-be picked up a lesser piece of her trousseau and did her best to make something at least useable. Though by the way Sansa was smiling, the girl would pick it up and redo it once she was done with her own piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers! I don’t have much time to proofread so I apologise in advance for any mistakes (English is my second language) and if anyone would like to volunteer as a beta, I’d love that.  
> So, this chapter is more of a beginning exploration on the character dynamics and how they were altered by the Jonerys betrothal and Dany growing up in Winterfell. The next one will expand on this, but we’ll follow the timeline from the show.  
> One thing that was a recurring comment — Jon and Dany’s future home, the Blessed Island, is not a place in the ASOIF- or GoT-verse. I created it because I couldn’t find a place in the North to put the castle I wanted to give them. So let’s just accept that in this story the First Men built a castle there and it was a trading outpost with Essos for millennia until their ruling family died and wasn’t replaced by the Kings of Winter.  
> Last thing, because I’m a sucker for detail: the timeline. If I’ve got any details different assume that I’ve changed it for the sake of the AU component.  
> – Rhaegar and Lyanna elope sometime during 280 AL. Brandon was riding for Riverrun to get married when he got the news so we have him and Lord Stark being murdered shortly after that. Then Aerys calls for Ned and Robert, Jon Arryn refuses and thus begins the rebellion. Way things went, all this can't have taken more than six months;  
> – early 281 AL – in Riverrun, Ned and Jon Arryn marry Catelyn and Lysa to get the Tully forces. Robb can't have been conceived any later than this, so he is born by “September” 281 AL at most;  
> – Jon is born, in Dorne, after the end of the rebellion. When Ned got to the Tower of Joy he’d already fought with Robert about the way Elia Martell and her children had been butchered, meaning Rhaegar had already been killed at the Trident and the rebels had already ridden to the sacked King's Landing. This means young Ned had already seen how Rhaegar’s children were treated in this whole new world they fought for;  
> – Since our boy is ICE, he was born on December 21st, 281 AL, the winter solstice, at daybreak (yes, I went there);  
> – That means Lyanna died later on the same day, 12/21/281;  
> – Rhaella gets pregnant on her last night in King's Landing, shortly before the Sack, which here occurs by late October, early November 281, so Dany has to have been born by August 282 AL. Since I'm a sucker for little jokes, our FIRE girl was born at dusk, on June 21st 282 AL, the summer solstice, and that does mean prematurely. The storm destroyed the Targaryen fleet, so no escape was possible after William Darry took Viserys out on the last viable ship hours after Rhaella went into labour but Dany wasn’t born yet. Stannis got to Dragonstone a few hours later and he took his sweet time securing the castle, so by the time he gets to the capital, Ned had also made the journey. Suppose Dany was too young to travel before, the storms were too strong, whatever;  
> – the prologue states Ned took eight months to get to the Red Keep. This make it August of 282 AL, by which time Jon is 8-months-old and Dany is one-month-old.  
> – the first chapter brings us to late 296 AL, by which time Jon is turning 15, because I can't have Dany flowering too late. GRRM has her marrying Drogo when she’s 13 in the books. Here she’s 14 already. That establishes that the wedding will happen in January 297 AL;  
> – for clarification, Jon Arryn will die, in this story, about a week before the wedding, so January 297 AL. That means the royal contingent gets to Winterfell by mid-March, and Robert was complaining about summer snows. So roughly a year before the show, which establishes season 1 in 298 AL.


	3. 02 Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is Arya's favourite brother for a reason! Meanwhile, Ned starts paying attention to what is happening inside his own household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last warning to Catelyn fans: get out.  
> While in cannon her abuse was only by ignoring Jon and praying for his death as an infant (by her own admission), here she had to deal with the fact her husband’s bastard was going to be a Lord, have a castle and lands and marry a princess. So she is not the same Catelyn than cannon, her actions and reactions are different. So go and spread love instead of hate.

**Chapter 2**

**Broken**

 

“I don’t want you to leave!”

Jon froze midway in barring the door. “I wasn’t aware I was leaving,” he said, putting the lock in place and turning to his youngest sister.

But Arya wasn’t happy at all. “Mother says you’ll leave as soon as you’re married. I don’t want you to! Can't you and Dany stay a while longer?”

Jon sighed. “Arya…”

“Please! Please, Jon! I don’t want you to go!”

“I was just talking to Father — the Blessed Island is not ready for us yet. Dany and I aren’t going anywhere for the moment.”

“You promise?”

Jon nodded. “But Arya, we will leave one day. We all will.”

“Why?”

“Well… didn’t your mother leave Riverrun to come here? Uncle Benjen left too. Everyone leaves, Arya.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Look, it’s not like we won't ever see each other again!”

“But it won't be every day!”

“Arya, we can't… we can't change that. But I promise you I'm not leaving now. Father says it’ll be at least another year. Now, how about we go to our lesson?”

That seemed to perk the girl up. “Can we try a sword today?”

“Arya…” Jon grumbled.

“Oh, come on! You saw this afternoon in the training yard! I'm done with archery lessons! Please, Jon, please, please, please!”

He sighed. “You’ll go to Dany and ask her to help you convince me again, won't you?”

Arya smiled unrepentant. “You can never say no to her. Even when you’re afraid Mother will disapprove.”

“Fine!” Jon gave in, knowing he’d be convinced either way before the week was over. “But it’s wooden swords first. And try not to get any cuts or bruises. Lady Stark will gleefully strangle me.”

Arya only smiled. “So, where do we start?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned couldn’t take the scene of Jon’s behaviour earlier in his study from his mind. He decided to pay better attention. Now, with the betrothal confirmed and the date for the wedding set, Jon was sitting next to Daenerys, at Robb’s right, what meant he was only one chair to Ned’s right, instead of all the way at the end.

Ned didn’t think much of Catelyn’s displeased face, not until the plates were served. It wasn’t very noticeable to someone who wasn’t paying attention, but Ned could see that Jon’s plate had less food than the others. As his eldest still hadn’t gotten there, his empty chair allowed enough room for Ned to force his ears to hear what Daenerys was saying. “I'm so sorry!”

“Hush,” Jon whispered back, “I was already expecting it, actually.”

“It’s my fault, I angered her in the embroidering…”

“It’s not your fault. I almost called him father in front of her. She wasn’t going to let it pass.”

“You know she always takes her anger at me out on you.”

He chuckled. “She has enough anger at me, you know that. It doesn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered for a while.” Ned watched as Jon took a small bite, only to set his fork down with a sigh.

Daenerys seemed even angrier. “Oh, I wish she chokes!”

“Stop it, Dany. Don’t waste your energy on her. Leave her to her pettiness.”

Daenerys sighed, but started eating at Jon’s urging, only to put her fork down as well. “Well, she’s inspired today.”

Jon sighed. “At least this means I’ll have company for supper tonight.”

Daenerys smiled sadly at his joke. They kept talking for the entire meal, and neither touched their plates again, nor were their goblets filled. Ned felt his heart shrink. Robb finally arrived, distracting his father with some story. Towards the end of the meal, Ned saw Sansa and Daenerys leaving the table, then Jon and Robb started talking about something. When Robb got distracted by his supper, Ned watched the butler slip something to Jon, which he quickly put in a pocket before excusing himself.

Ned clenched his jaw. The servant was removing Jon’s and Daenerys’ barely touched plates, unsurprised neither of them had eaten anything. Catelyn’s handmaiden said she was going to the kitchen to fetch her mistress something.

“No need,” the butler insisted. “You rest easy, miss. I’ll fetch whatever the Lady needs myself.”

“Oh, but you’re busy serving…”

“I insist. The kitchen is no place for a handmaiden. I’ll go get it, and I can finish taking the plates later.”

Ned sat back on his chair. Was what the butler had slipped Jon the key to the pantry? Was Catelyn sending her handmaiden there to ensure Jon and Daenerys weren’t getting food after all? Was this so normal an occurrence that had even a system in place? Had he really lost all control of his own household?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned walked into the room, hearing Catelyn coordinate the servants among piles of cloth. He’d spent half the night awake, trying not to feel betrayed by the woman he was holding in his arms. The woman he’d grown to love despite their marriage of convenience and rocky start. He hadn’t had much success. The servants immediately bowed their heads.

“Ned!” she exclaimed, surprised. “I wasn’t expecting…”

“I found some time and thought to come and take a look at preparations for the wedding. Not that I dispute your position running the household.” _Please, let me be wrong_ , he thought one last time. _Please let this be my mind running wild._

“Oh,” he saw Catelyn get uncomfortable. Perhaps his suspicions were righter than he dared imagine. He should have inspected this years ago. But he had _trusted_ his wife. Why wouldn’t he? “What would you like to know?” she asked.

“First… what about the feasts? Are we going to have enough? Should the boys leave in more hunts?”

“Well, I’ve spoken to Robb about what we’ll need for the wedding feast, we’ll need a pigeon pie, but I’ve worked around the rest.”

“Well, that’s the wedding feast. What about Jon’s name day?” Ned asked. Catelyn pretended to not understand. “His name day is in a fortnight. We _will_ have a feast to celebrate it, as we do every year.”

Catelyn’s face contorted in displeasure. How appropriate that a child of Stark blood had been born on that day, she had heard the boy’s entire life. As if it wasn’t bad enough that, other than Arya, the bastard was the only one who had the dark brown hair and grey eyes that marked the Stark features. The only son of Ned Stark who looked like a true Stark and he wasn’t Lady Stark’s son. No, only that hadn’t been enough. His name day had to be a mark of the Kings of Winter, the day that marked the beginning of the season of summer snows.

For the past fourteen years, she’d been able to pass the feast as a celebration for the solstice. Ned’s face made it clear that this year it wouldn’t be possible.

“Oh, I just thought… I mean, so soon before the wedding…” she said.

Ned hardened his face. “I just had an idea. We’ll have his ennobling on his name day. Some of the Lords will be hard pressed to make it on time, but I suppose it can't be helped.”

“Ned, this will have the Lords here for a fortnight before the wedding.”

“Wonderful. Plenty of men hunting for the wedding feast.” Catelyn went silent. Her husband had his face set into that stubborn determination she knew she wouldn’t be able to overrule. “Now,” Ned continued, “what about their clothes?”

“Well, Septa Mordane is with the girls now, and they are working on the maiden cloak and wedding dress. These,” she showed a pile of fine clothe, “will be cut into new dresses and the nightgown. A trousseau fit for a princess.”

“And Jon’s clothes?”

Catelyn pursed her lips and pointed to a small bundle near the end of the table, which even he knew would barely be enough for one single outfit. “The tailor will start on them soon,” she said.

Ned threw her a hard look as he went to inspect the bundle. He clenched his jaw, but refrained from further comment in front of the servants. “What about his wedding clothes?”

Catelyn went silent. “Begging your pardon, milord,” said one of the servants once the silence stretched, “but these are to become the young Lord’s wedding clothes.”

Ned nodded, and his glare intensified. “If the Lady Daenerys is having new clothes made, why not Lord Jon?” the servants lowered their eyes and didn’t answer. “You,” he called the young boy he knew was the personal servant of the boys, “are Lord Jon’s clothes so new and so fresh looking that he won't need new ones made for him?”

The boy startled, throwing a scared a look at Catelyn before turning to his Lord, terrified. “I… I’d have to check, milord. But I… I…” he went quiet.

“Check? Do you not tend to my sons’ wardrobe and personal affairs? Shouldn’t you be aware of the clothes you tend to every day?”

The boy flushed scarlet and didn’t answer. “Pardon, milord,” said a middle-aged woman, “but I carry the laundry to the wash and back. Lord Jon’s clothes are not in the best state. Sometimes I mend them myself.”

Ned watched as Catelyn’s head snapped in the woman’s direction, but his wife masked well her emotions. His heart pulsed with the betrayal he’d been trying to deny since the night before. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Ca— Cal, milord.”

“Cal, I’m not going to punish you. Answer my question.”

“I… I tend to Lord Robb and Lord Bran, sometimes Lord Rickon, Lord Stark. Sometimes I’ll mend Lord Theon’s clothes as well, and care for his boots. But… but I don’t tend to Lord Jon, no.”

Ned clenched his jaw. “Then who does?” no one answered. “Catelyn?” she looked at him, but quickly looked away. “Am I to understand that no one tends to Lord Jon, is that it?” again no one answered. “That his clothes are mended because a good soul takes on more than her share of work?” the servants were starting to get nervous. “Pol,” Ned called his own servant, who stepped forward. “As attendant to the Lord of the castle, am I right to assume that you are the most senior of personal attendants?”

“Yes, milord.”

“And it was you who appointed Cal to attend to the boys?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Find another boy to be personal attendant to Lord Jon. After his marriage, he will be Lord of his own castle and head of his House, and deserves to be treated as such. Cal, from now on you will tend personally only to Lord Robb. Pol, you will also find someone else to tend to, at the same time, Lord Theon, Lord Bran, and Lord Rickon, since the youngest do not need as much attention and have the help of their nurses. I’m sure Lady Sansa, Lady Daenerys, and Lady Arya have their own handmaidens as well?”

“Yes, milord,” said the woman he recognised as Catelyn’s handmaiden. “Two young girls tend to the young Ladies’ every need.”

“Good. Pol, I want you to look over Lord Jon’s wardrobe today and see what needs to be replaced, then order the best leather, silk, and cloth to have it made. His wedding clothes will be as fine as his position as Lord of his own castle and head of his family demand. Lord Robb, Lord Bran, and Lord Rickon will only have new clothes made for them if their current ones are deemed unable to be worn any longer until Lord Jon’s entire new wardrobe is made. Am I clear?” there was a chorus of ‘yes, milord’. “You,” he called the laundry maid, “what is your name?”

“Ayla, milord.”

“Find another girl to take your place. From now on you’re housekeeper to the future Lord and Lady Starling, and for so long as they still live in Winterfell, you’re charged with inspecting the state of the wardrobe of the whole family, and have new ones made once you deem it necessary. Also, you will work with the Lady Daenerys personally to organise the details for the ennobling ceremony and following feast, to happen on Lord Jon’s name day, as well as organise the details of the wedding. And you report to me personally, not to Lady Stark.”

The woman curtseyed deeply. “Thank you, milord.”

The servants were now in a tizzy. Lord Stark had in one fell swoop punished Lady Stark and made sure she wouldn’t be able to take it out on the one who actually spoke most against her. Servants may serve their Lady, and certainly share her feelings as regarding her husband’s bastard, but most in the castle couldn’t deny Lady Catelyn was too cruel and Lord Jon only too kind.

“Pol, have Poole, the butler, and the cook sent to my study as soon as possible. Catelyn, come.”

He left the room hearing his blood roaring in his ears, barely containing his anger. He sat at his desk as Catelyn closed the door behind her.

“Explain yourself.”

She remained impassive. “I don’t have anything to explain.”

Ned finally exploded and punched the table. Catelyn’s mask wavered as she was startled. “I saw how Jon was acting in front of you yesterday, meek and submissive, not looking me in the eye, and I didn’t like it. I watched him at dinner, and I saw his plate and how neither he nor Daenerys ate anything. Now I see that you have even his clothes held back. Why?”

“He is…”

“I hope you keep in mind he is my _son_ before you finish your sentence.”

Her nostrils flared in her anger. “He is not _my_ son!”

“I know. And I told you I could never apologise enough for that. But he _is_ my son, and he _will_ be treated as such. I hoped, though I knew it wouldn’t be realistic to expect you to make him feel at home. But he _is_ home. And I hope I’ve put an end to your pettiness. Because if I hear or see any evidence of the contrary, the consequences will be worse than appointing new servants.”

She was trembling in anger now, and decided to turn to leave, aware that no excuse or further arguing would help her.

“Catelyn,” Ned called and she turned at the door. “I hope Poole, the butler, and the cook don’t tell me you’ve kept meals from my son, that last night was a one-time thing. And for your information, none of them will be taking leave of this house for a long time. By their request or yours.”

She slammed the door behind herself as she rushed away from the room. Could she hope for the two servants’ allegiance to her instead of their duty to their Lord? Why, oh why had Ned decided to meddle in household issues?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter expands on the dynamics of Winterfell. Sorry for only the small bit of Jonerys, but it grew too big and I just couldn’t find anything to cut, and I think the big picture is important.  
> Before I get rained down with negative reactions, let me say just one little thing: servants are very loyal to the family they serve, as long as they’re kind (ie Maester Wolkan’s terror of Ramsay and loyalty to Sansa, Maester Luwin's loyalty to the Starks...). Starving a child is not viewed as kind, least of all to commoners who often feel the hunger issues, especially in the dreary North. Also, in the medieval times, the poor illiterate servants thought being nobility or rewarded by one was being akin to being rewarded by God. So here, unlike in cannon, you don’t have Jon as the figure of the bastard who is merely a stain on his father’s honour, sinful in nature. You have Jon as an acknowledged son of House Stark, who looks like a Stark, and who is, by order of the King, set to marry a former princess.  
> So in their minds Jon is worth the same as Robb. Add to that Catelyn is an outsider in the North, breaking northern customs in favour of southern ones, and that she is unkind while Jon is kind and treats them well and you’ll see why the servants are loyal to him and not Catelyn. Obviously, they know their place and wouldn’t speak against their Lady, but once Ned makes clear they’re allowed to…  
> And that is also why Catelyn is so much meaner here than in cannon. In cannon, Jon was never going to be anything as far as she could see. But here he's set to be a Lord, have a castle and lands and a princess for a wife. His bride is, in her opinion, better than any Robb could have, and Jon’s lot is better than Bran’s and Rickon’s. Her only way to ‘deal’ with it is to take it out on Jon the only way she can.  
> So, again, Catelyn’s actions here and weighted by the new scenario around her. She doesn’t have the exact same attitudes as in cannon because the situation is worlds apart. For someone who hated Jon and ignored him simply for existing, how do you suppose her reaction, propelled by her southern prejudices, would be to Jon having better prospects than her younger sons? That I can understand her bitterness for.


	4. 03 Cleaning House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned reaches his decision on what to do about Catelyn's actions, while Jon and Danny celebrate their wedding date being set and a beloved character comes to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m updating the rating on this to mature. Before any squeals, no, there is nothing explicit, but Jon and Dany celebrate their upcoming union and I’d rather err in the side of caution.

**Chapter 3**

**Cleaning House**

 

Ned made his way through the corridors with a heavy heart, having dispensed with at least a quarter of the servants while a wedding was coming up and the Northern lords were on their way. He should have kept a closer look. He should have at least suspected something. But he’d chosen to trust his wife.

“I meddled where I could, my Lord,” Vayon Poole, the castle steward, confessed. “I had new clothes made for the boy, bought new boots with other household funds. But I couldn't very well go against my Lady.”

“Lady Stark said to be subtle so you wouldn’t notice, milord,” the butler had said, “so I did enough that _she_ would notice, but then had something else brought to the boy later. Sometimes I’d take something to his room myself. She was especially hard after lessons. If Lord Jon was better at a lesson than Lord Robb, she’d tell me to put too much salt or make sure he couldn’t eat whatever little she allowed me to put in the plate he’d eat in front of you, milord. The boy learned fast to _not_ be better than Lord Robb. I told him not to eat at supper so she would get her wishes, and to come to the kitchen after.”

“I always have food for him when he comes asking, milord,” the cook had added. “Such a kind boy, was crying the first time he came, the poor child, little more than a toddler he was, right after Lady Catelyn ran his nurse from here. So shy and kind, asking for an old loaf of bread, and his little tummy was rumbling more than the clouds in a storm. Most of the kitchen servants know better than to tell Lady Stark we give him food. Sometimes, if you leave breakfast early, she’ll forbid the boy to eat until supper. And she said to never give him dessert or any other delicacies.”

Ned had debated what do for almost an hour after the servants left. Having reached a decision, he made his way to his son’s room with a heavy heart. He heard low voices behind the door and frowned. There was sudden silence at his knock, and after a moment Jon opened the door, clearly startled. “Father! What… has something happened?”

Ned frowned. “No. I merely wished to speak with you. May I come in?”

Jon was even more startled. “I, ah… I could come to your study. No need for you to come here.”

Ned clenched his jaw. By the way he’d said ‘here’, it seemed like Jon’s bedroom was the most unsuitable place for a conversation. “No need. There were… I wish to speak with you, and I'm already here.” Jon looked like a scared deer. “What is the matter? Who is in there?”

“W—what?”

“I heard voices as I came. Who is in there with you?”

The boy sighed, but let his head fall forward in defeat for a moment, before reluctantly stepping back and letting him in. Ned raised an eyebrow in question and a small wave of disappointment came as he saw Daenerys’ silver hair and the girl sitting on the narrow bed. But then he saw Sansa sitting next to her, and knew his worries were misplaced.

His daughter was wide-eyed, her needle frozen in mid-air as what he recognised as a jerkin rested on her lap. “Father!” she stuttered. “Why… you won't tell Mother, will you?”

He frowned. “What exactly would I tell her? And what are you doing?”

“It’s my fault, Father, I asked Daenerys to help me…”

“But I’m terrible with a needle, so I asked Sansa…”

“I mean, I only help when I…”

They started talking one on top of the other, as if they needed to cover their backs and protect each other from a scolding. Ned raised a hand, silencing them. “From what I see, Sansa is mending. Why?”

“I was careless at practise today,” Jon was clearly embarrassed to admit. “The seam gave in. But I really don’t know what to do with a needle.”

“So I…” Sansa was scared. “I just mend them sometimes, Father. Jon won't even ask me unless it becomes impossible to be worn again. Usually it’s Daenerys who comes to get me because he doesn’t want to bother us asking for help. But if Mother… she wouldn’t let me help. She forbade me to even talk to him!”

Ned clenched his jaw again. In one day, he was apparently finding out all that was wrong within his household. It seemed like he was just too blind or too uninterested to see it before. “I won't tell her, nor will I scold you. Praise you, rather, for helping your brother. But you don’t need to mend for Jon anymore.”

Sansa seemed invigorated by the praise. “But Mother won't allow… I mean, there’s no one else to do it, Father.”

“Jon has a servant to do it.”

“Mother forbade Robb’s attendant to help Jon. I heard it. And I heard her order Pol punished when he tried to help!”

“Jon has his own attendant now. I just gave the order.” There was a moment of silence at the implication. “Girls, I’d like to talk to my son. Could you excuse us?”

They stood from the bed. “I’ll take this with me. I’m almost done, and if I stop now it’ll just have to be done all over again,” Sansa said, taking the jerkin.

Ned had to step out of the room for the girls to leave, and he closed the door behind himself as he walked back in. Jon was standing next to the chest, looking scared, with his cloak on though he’d removed the jerkin. It looked like he didn’t have a second one.

Ned took a look around. The bed was narrow and didn’t look as comfortable as his own. The linens certainly looked coarser. He could see that the furs were matted, not having been aired in a while, and not tidy enough for the bed to have been made by a maid. There was a small tree trunk, roughly cut, that was serving as a bedside table with a few books on top of it. The small chest could barely fit anything, and a second pair of boots stood next to it, instead of inside. The fireplace was unlit though it was quite chilly.

“Why don’t you have a fire going?”

“I’m… I'm not cold, Father,” Jon muttered so quietly Ned almost didn’t hear.

He frowned, confused. “Then why are you wearing your cloak inside? We’re during the time of summer snows, but the castle is warm and the fireplace should be enough.” Jon didn’t answer. “Son? Be honest, please.”

“The… the firewood… I… I didn’t have time to stop by the storage on my way back, and by now Lady… I mean, by now I won't be able to bring it in. So… there’s not enough to last the whole night, especially if I start it now. So I think I’ll save the logs I have for bedtime.”

Ned had to actually bite his lip to keep from crying. He could gather the meaning. Catelyn had barely enough firewood be left in the room, and Jon was the one who had to go and get some to be able to be warm through the night. And if he couldn’t get it now, it meant Catelyn couldn’t see him bringing it in. Gods, how blind had he been? _Oh, Lya, how have I failed our boy!_

Ned sighed heavily, resting both his hands on Jon’s shoulders, forcing the boy to look up and into his eyes. “I'm sorry, son.”

“You don’t need… you don’t have anything to be sorry for, Father. It’s all my fault.”

“No. No, it isn't, and I’m devastated that you can even think that. That I ever gave you cause to think like this. That you ever had to skip a meal and count on the kindness of servants. I didn’t… I was too blind before, but I promise you it won't happen anymore.”

“I don’t… all I got is what I deserve.”

“No, it isn't,” Ned asserted fiercely. It was time his _son_ understood that. “Catelyn shouldn’t have done any of it, and I'm sorry I didn’t care to check before. I’ve ordered a new attendant for you and my own attendant is handling the choosing. The cook and the butler are disavowed from the insanity of giving you smaller portions or inedible food. You may stop by the kitchens whenever you like, but you won't ever again leave my table hungry. And this…” he sighed, looking at the room. “I was having the chambers next to mine prepared for you and Daenerys to take after the wedding.”

Jon blushed. “You’re too kind, Father.”

“You’re my son. But I rather think we shan’t wait. I’ll ask the servants to bring your things to the new room now, as well as plenty of firewood. Now come, you should get settled, and I have one last thing to take care of before supper.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn’s apprehension only grew as she neared her chambers, still worried about what would Ned have heard by now and what was his reaction going to be. The Lord’s chambers counted with bedrooms for both the Lord and the Lady, their dressing rooms and a drawing room of sorts, but her handmaiden was waiting outside and not in her dressing room as usual.

“Milady,” the woman said, clearly nervous, “Lord Stark… he asked… he said… I mean…”

“Out with it, Grinda,” Catelyn snapped, her anxiousness getting the best of her.

“Lord Stark said he wished to speak with you as soon as you returned inside. He is expecting you in his study.”

Catelyn nodded, though her stomach felt as if it had been tied in knots. She’d expected Ned’s anger, and had stayed outside as long as she dared in order to avoid it as much as she could before supper. Apparently, it hadn’t worked as well as she had hoped.

She made her way to Ned’s working place quickly, being granted entrance as soon as she knocked. “You wished to speak with me?”

Ned didn’t turn from the window, though it was a bit too chilly to have it open. A few minutes went by before he turned around to face her.

“I thought I could trust my own wife with the running of my household,” he said and his voice was ice cold. “I didn’t think I’d be blindsided with mistreatment and neglect. Worse, with cruelty. How could you, Catelyn?”

“How could I what?”

Ned snapped, slamming a fist on the table. “Don’t play games with me, Catelyn, I am not in the mood!”

“That boy is the symbol of your betrayal!”

“That boy is my _son_!” Ned shouted, as if the statement was the truest he’d ever uttered. Catelyn shrank back as the things scattered on top of the desk rattled. “And you’re right, since he is mine but not yours he does represent my broken vows. He is, however, innocent! What, do you think he somehow appeared and asked to be born? I'm the one in the wrong Catelyn, not Jon. _Never_ Jon. And yet you punished him as if he was guilty of a capital crime!”

“He is a bastard.”

Ned breathed harder, losing his patience. “He is my _son_! Nothing will ever change that. I hope you understand that. I hope this is the last time this needs to be spelled out to you. Jon is my son and he will receive the same treatment as Robb, Bran, and Rickon.” He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “I’ve spoken to Poole and the butler and I have dispensed with the servants whom you have rewarded for their mistreatment of my son. I have ceased all the petty orders you gave, and if you give out any others I will take it as a slight against myself. And I’ve ordered the bed in your room to be made. It will do us good to be apart for a while.”

“Are you setting me aside?” Catelyn asked in a trembling voice.

“No. But I'm furious with you right now. And I can't trust you. I don’t know if I ever will again.”

Catelyn nodded, doing a poor job of hiding her tears as she left the room and tore through the corridors towards her room. Grinda, who had been waiting inside, tried her best to console her mistress, but Catelyn was just beyond it.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon walked into his new chambers after supper to find the fireplace already roaring with a warm fire. He smiled to himself as he looked around the room. No more soot and ashes on his hands as he got the fire going with the torch Pol had left in the corridor next to his room. From what he heard, none of the rooms in Winterfell could be called ‘spacious’, but after what he had, the small, dingy chamber that he could barely fit in, this was grand. The bed was clearly meant to fit two people (he ignored the warmth at thinking that) and there was a desk for him to supposedly go through letters and missives. In front of the fireplace there was a big armchair, next to the little bed the wolf pup had already taken over, and not far a table that would comfortably seat four people if he and Daenerys ever felt like dining in their chambers. On the other side of the bed, a door led to what he presumed was the dressing room, which would connect to the room that would, in name, be Daenerys’.

He decided to forego further exploration in favour of sitting on the bed, and reaching to feel the linens. They were much finer than his old ones, not scratchy at all. “Testing if we’ll be comfortable?”

Jon smiled. “I should’ve guessed you would sneak in here.”

Daenerys grinned back. “Well, your father has you in the family wing now. That means I can very easily reach you through the service doors.”

Jon chuckled. “Quite daring of you, Princess. What would people say?”

“I couldn’t care less. We’re getting married in less than a moon. Let them talk,” she said as she came to stand in front of him.

Jon, who had been too busy being surprised with the visit, hadn’t noticed anything amiss until she dropped her cloak, revealing only a thin silk shift underneath. Against the light from the fire, she looked a vision.

“Dany…” She bent to kiss him, making him moan and grasp her waist strongly. “We shouldn’t…”

“It won't make a difference, Jon. We’ve been waiting too long already.”

He sighed, feeling his resistance crumbling as she kissed down his neck. “It’s… the… the servants will see the blood…”

“Horseback riding breaks maidenheads.”

“It _can_ break it, Maester Luwin said.”

She giggled. “Been talking much about it, have you?”

He groaned as she found a sensitive spot. “He… he wanted to warn me… so I… so I knew what to expect on our wedding night.”

“I’m here, Jon,” she whispered in his ear, causing goosebumps to erupt. “I'm here and I'm yours. Take me.”

He groaned, his resistance snapping. He took one of his hands up to tangle in her hair and pulled her head back, then mashed their lips together in a hot kiss. Daenerys was panting by the time Jon broke the kiss and descended on her neck, biting her lip to keep her moans in. He grabbed her waist again, pushing her on her back on the bed. On _their_ bed. Her hair spilled like a silver halo against the dark furs, and her eyes shone like amethysts as he quickly threw away the outer layers of his clothes.

“Kiss me,” Daenerys said as he was left with only his breeches.

“Oh, I will,” Jon answered in a low voice, making her shiver as he bent his head, kissing down her thighs. She was about to ask what he was doing when he closed his mouth around her most private part, sucking and nipping and licking, making all coherent thought evade her.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Benjen made his way down to the crypts. He’d just ridden into the courtyard and the stable boy who came to take his horse had said Ned had just crossed on his way here, so Benjen decided to follow instead of going inside the castle first. “Big brother,” he greeted quietly, joining Ned in front of Lyanna’s statue.

“I'm glad you’re here, little brother.”

“Of course I am. You look troubled. Want to talk?”

Ned sighed. “I’ve been here for a while. Begging her forgiveness. Hoping she’ll see fit to grant it. I failed her,” he explained at Benjen’s frown. “I failed her and I failed Jon and I feel like I failed myself.”

“What happened?”

“You were right. Catelyn, she was… I don’t know why it took me so long to see. I guess I _wanted_ to not see it. But I… I ended it.”

Benjen clenched his jaw and was silent for a moment. “Did you send her back to Riverrun?”

“No,” Ned sighed. “I don’t… I have five children, Benjen, and they need their mother. I stopped her madness and I’m punishing her for it.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Ned took a moment to think. “I don’t know. I… I thought I loved her. Maybe I just… I guess I grew to love her, Benjen. I can't… I can't accept she was so horrible to my son, but is it enough to end our marriage? Is it enough to send her away with no chance of reconciliation? If she… if she were to change, I mean, I’d hope… I just don’t know right now. Fifteen years is too long.”

“And Jon?”

“He’ll be alright now. I’ve got him everything he should always have had.”

“She’d forgive you,” Benjen said, pointing with his head to Lyanna’s statue. “Whack you on the head and yell a bit, but she’d forgive you. But whatever happens after we die, Catelyn Tully better hope she never crosses paths with Lya. She won't even know what hit her.”

Ned snorted and smiled sadly. If there was one thing he was sure of, was that Benjen was right. If Catelyn ever crossed paths with Lyanna in the afterlife, she’d be crossing paths with a very fierce lady wolf, who was very protective of her loved ones, and if she’d been given the chance, would have been beyond protective of her pup. Only a fool would bet against Lyanna Stark.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon smiled as he looked down. Daenerys was sleeping peacefully in his arms, her face serene and calm, her silver hair shining in the light coming in through the windows. He heard sounds of life in the corridor and in the servants’ passages, and regretfully kissed her forehead, calling her name.

“Just a bit longer,” she mumbled, cuddling more into him.

He chuckled. “It’s way past sunrise already, Dany. You have to go back to your room. Before anyone notices.”

She sighed. “Maids always wake me up last. Arya is an early bird and Sansa is too dutiful, I'm the difficult one to rouse.”

Jon smiled. “Thank you for the advance warning. Come on, Dany, you know no one can catch you here.”

She smiled, opening her eyes. “Worried about your virtue?”

“You know they’d commend me and judge you. You shouldn’t have stayed.”

“It’s your fault. Your kisses made my legs turn into jelly. How was I supposed to sneak back to my room?”

Jon smirked and felt a surge of masculine pride. Before they could say anything else, there was a knock on the service door. “Milord?” They both frowned. It was a woman’s voice.

“What is it?” Jon called as Dany stood up and put on her robe.

“If I could trouble you for a moment of your time.”

He cursed under his breath. “I’m not yet dressed for the day.”

“I'm sorry, milord. I bring a message from your betrothed. I’ve just been to her room.”

They froze, looking at each other. But then Jon threw his tunic back on and allowed entrance. “You’re not my maid,” Dany said.

The woman smiled gently, starting to pick up the outer layers of Jon’s clothes that were still strewn across the room.

“No, milady,” she said. “I’m Ayla. Lord Stark made me your housekeeper yesterday, and bid me to work with you to organise both the ennobling feast and the wedding. As the kitchens are… well, in an upheaval, truth be told, I thought I’d come and introduce myself as I helped you dress for the day. Ila was dismissed, you see.”

“How did you know to look for me here?” Daenerys asked.

The woman smiled indulgently. “Call it a lucky guess, milady.”

“I have to tell you…” Jon started.

“Oh, don’t worry, milord, I know nothing unbecoming happened. Lord Stark raised you too well for that. Besides, you’ll be married soon enough, what difference does it make?”

Daenerys smiled. “I think we’ll be happy working together, Ayla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!  
> So here we have the conclusion of Ned’s reaction, I hope you enjoyed it. I’d like to give a shoutout to my new beta, the great orayofsunshine , who helped me with a scene I was already second guessing and who is fully responsible for the extra 400 words in this chapter. So kudos to her as well.
> 
> As always, I look forward to hearing your comments and getting new kudos :)


	5. 04 House Starling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new character comes to Winterfell, Jon makes a friend, Benjen feels lonely, and it's finally the winter solstice.

**Chapter 4**

**House Starling**

 

Jon was out hunting in the Wolfswood with Robb and Theon when they heard the crash. They turned the horses back towards the Kingsroad, where the sound had come from, and upon arrival saw an overturned carriage. The few soldiers escorting it were trying to rein in the horses and help the carriage occupant to his feet. The three of them dismounted near the crash.

“Do you men need any help?” Robb asked.

“No, we don’t. So you bastards can just fuck off!” one of the guards snapped as he struggled with the horses.

“You are speaking to Robb Stark, son and heir of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, and Warden of the North,” said Theon. “Watch your manners.”

“My apologies, milord. We're just frustrated, is all,” said another guard.

“What happened?” Robb asked, waving them off.

“Carriage overturned, milord.”

“And who is the passenger?”

The occupant of the carriage limped towards them, looking uncomfortable. “I’m Samwell Tarly, Lord Robb, son of Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill.”

“You are very far from the Reach, Lord Samwell,” said Jon, when it looked like Robb was having a hard time to place House Tarly.

“I’m on my way to Castle Black, Lord…”

“It’s a long way for an upturned carriage,” Robb interrupted. “Come with us to Winterfell, it is but two miles away, and we’ll send men to help bring your carriage and fix it. I insist,” he added when it looked like Samwell was going to refuse.

One of the guards helped the awkward man onto a horse, and followed as they made their way to Winterfell. Once there, Theon went to fetch the men to go get the carriage and Robb went to get Ned, so Jon started leading Samwell to the Great Hall.

“You don’t seem like the sort to want to join the Night’s Watch,” Jon said.

“Because I'm fat?” Samwell asked defensively.

“No,” Jon replied smiling, “because you look like you prefer a book in your hand, rather than a sword.” Samwell flushed. “I'm Jon, by the way. Jon Snow.” He watched as the other’s eyes widened.

“Oh. Ooh! You’re the one betrothed to the Lady Daenerys Targaryen, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jon agreed, wanting to roll his eyes. Is that all he was? ‘the one betrothed to the Lady Daenerys’?. “Now, why would want to join the Watch, Samwell? I doubt you’re here out of your own will. You’re a noble, but you’re travelling without a sword. And if you were a warrior, you’d be riding a horse, not inside of a carriage.”

“You can call me Sam,” he said with a big sigh. “And I suppose… Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now, and if anyone could understand, maybe you can. I mean, you have a lordship awaiting you, but…”

“Sam, whatever it is, I can help you.”

Sam laughed. “You can't. You see… My father… House Tarly is known for its military excellence. I’m… you’re right, I’m no good with a sword. Can't ride well either. My father, he doesn’t like that. He… he’d rather my younger brother, who is a proper warrior, were his heir. So…”

“So he asked you to renounce?”

“More like he forced me to. He took me aside on my name day and said that I could join the Watch or he would take me to the woods to hunt and then I would suffer an accident on our way back to the castle. No one would question a spooked horse after I died.”

“That’s despicable,” Jon said with a clenched his jaw.

“Well, what could I do, really?” Sam shrugged.

“Why didn’t he send you to the Citadel?”

“Because the Order of Maesters expects a gift of money when taking in the son of a lord. And my father said he wasn’t going to throw away money in a lost cause. Besides, he expects the Night’s Watch might make a man out of me.”

Jon was furious. What kind of a father could do that to his own son? He didn’t have long to seethe on his anger, though, as Robb and Ned came into the room.

“Lord Samwell,” Ned said, “my son tells me you had an accident with your carriage on your journey.”

“Yes, my Lord. And Lord Robb was kind enough to invite me to Winterfell and to send men to help with the carriage.”

“Nonsense. Please, welcome to our home. You can stay as long as you need until your carriage is fixed.”

“You are very kind, Lord Stark.”

“Father,” Jon said, “may I have a word?”

“Of course. Robb, have a room prepared for our guest, I'm sure he could use some rest before supper. It can't be an easy journey from the Reach.”

Robb nodded and Ned and Jon went to the Lord’s study. Jon explained his idea.

“Let me see if I understand,” Ned said, hiding a smirk, “you want to take in a man threatened to death by his father?”

“Father, please… you’ve seen him, he is not going to be happy or even useful in the Night’s Watch. He said he left because his father wanted his brother to inherit, but if he renounces his claim, even without joining the Watch, won't it have the same effect?”

“Yes, it would. As long as the Crown recognised it, at least.”

“So, if the King says so, his father’s threat is gone. He would no longer be the heir.”

“No, he would not.”

“And if you’re friends with the King, can’t you ask him for this decree?”

“I suppose I could.”

“So the next issue would be how to live if he’s renounced his birth right. Well, you told me to start building my household. I could have him as… as an adviser, I don’t know.”

Ned sighed, though he was amused. “Jon, you don’t even know if he is wise enough for that!”

“I’ll have Maester Luwin test him tomorrow, and if not, I’ll find him another position. Please, Father.”

Ned chuckled. “It’s your household, son. If that is what you want, then that is how it shall be. Have Maester Luwin test him tomorrow, and I’ll write to King's Landing. But let _me_ write to Lord Tarly. If he is this _difficult_ , then it is better that the letter comes from the Warden of the North, rather than a young Lord.”

“Thank you, Father,” Jon smiled as he left the room.

Ned smiled as well. _Oh, Lya, you’d be proud of him. He’s just like you._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sam was shocked as Jon explained his idea. Maester Luwin had just left the Great Hall, after wrapping his ankle and declaring it was only bruised and would be fine with a bit of rest.

“You want me to join your household?” Sam asked, still unbelieving.

“Yes. If you want, that is.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m building my household and I think you should be free to choose where you want to live. I’ve told you, the Night’s Watch is not your place.”

“I… I don’t even know what to say!”

“You have time to think. I know your father is expecting you to go straight to the Wall, but no one would question it if you halt your journey so you can attend the wedding and then return to the road after the ceremony, especially if you receive a personal invitation from the Warden of the North. I mean, your carriage will take at least ten days to be ready, they said, and by then we’ll be too close to the ceremony. You’re already here, might as well enjoy it. And if you decide to stay, it won't matter that you delayed.”

“Oh. That’s… I mean…”

“Think, Sam. I mean it.” Jon turned to leave the room and saw Benjen standing at the door. “Uncle Benjen! I didn’t know you were coming today!”

Benjen smiled, turning to Jon. “I was getting tired of the constant yammering from the construction. I feel like it won't ever leave my ears.”

“I’m sorry, uncle Benjen,” Jon said apologetically.

“Whatever for?”

“That you’re so uncomfortable there. I know you are only there—”

Benjen put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm not uncomfortable, Jon. I’m there because I chose to be there. I would’ve left Winterfell anyway, so why shouldn’t I leave and do something useful?”

Jon smiled. “Thank you. But uncle, you’re giving me a look. Why?”

Benjen chuckled, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Nothing. Nothing but the musings of an old man. It’s just… I saw what you did back there, with the boy. Reminds me of…” he blinked, catching himself. “I'm proud of you, Jon. You just did a good thing, expecting no reward. There are not many in this world that would do the same.”

Benjen turned and left quickly. His loneliness was getting to him, and finding Ned in the crypts couldn't have helped. Jon was left watching his uncle’s retreating form. Who did he remind Benjen of?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys sighed, looking over the clothes scattered in front of her. She and Ayla had taken over the preparations for the fast-approaching celebrations, and were now inspecting what Lady Stark had thought appropriate to set aside. Jon had said he had talked to his father and was taking over the running of their household, so he’d given her a budget for the clothing — Lord Stark insisted in paying for the feasts.

“Well, I'm not surprised, but…” Daenerys said.

The clothes and cloth were simple, except for her wedding dress, which would be paraded in front of the North. The problem was Jon’s clothes, or rather, the poor bundle of leather and linen that was become to his wedding clothes. Of course Catelyn hadn’t chosen anything good.

“Well,” Ayla started with a chuckle, “she’ll get what’s hers, milady, we all do. Though sometimes those who don’t deserve suffer at the hands of monsters.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, taking a good look at the woman. Her skin was pale, not sun-kissed, but it still didn’t look the fresh milk colour of those who were born in the North with no relations to the southern kingdoms. That by itself wouldn’t stand out, except that Ayla’s accent sometimes slipped. On some words she forewent the natural northern inflexion for something that sounded far and foreign.

“You’re not Northern, are you?” Dany asked.

“No,” Ayla answered simply. “I was born nowhere near these parts.”

“How did you come to be here?”

Ayla smiled. The years in Winterfell had taken the sun bronze from her skin, making her as pale as the people around her, and being from the Red Mountains meant she didn’t share the Rhoynar features common in her Dornish countrymen. Her hair was brown enough to fool Lady Stark, though, and no one questioned her brown eyes.

“Once a Lady was kind to me and I swore to serve her in turn,” she explained. “Though it wasn’t without its troubles.”

“You look awfully familiar,” Dany insisted.

“I’ve been working the laundry in this castle for years, milady. You were but a girl of seven when I came. It’s been long enough for you to have seen me around.”

But Daenerys shook her head. “I just… I had the impression it was from somewhere else. But anyway. Who was the Lady? It couldn't have been Lady Stark.”

“Catelyn Tully doesn’t look to me like one to make kindness, milady,” Ayla said derisively. “I don’t think she would have done what the Lady did. I was but a girl of four and ten when the Lady tried to save my babe. Her husband too, he sent his maester to help. That’s why I'm here.”

“So it was Lord Stark?”

“You’re too curious, milady. Tell you what, one day I’ll tell you my story. I think you’ll like it. But today, we’ve got work to do. We have your betrothed’s wardrobe to make. And if I can be so bold, milady, a bonfire to make with these rags.”

Daenerys only laughed, and soon her curiosity was drowned in the silly tales of married life her new housekeeper was telling.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon was taking a break from training, sitting on the fringes of the training yard with Sam and watching Robb and Theon cross swords. They passed a water skin between them, commenting on the duel as the two fought. Robb was destroying the ironborn, of course, but Jon knew things would change when they got the bow out.

“And you’re sure your father won't mind?” Sam asked for what seemed the twentieth time.

“He won't, I’ve told you,” Jon insisted. “He was the one who told me to build my household. I need an adviser to handle all the taxes. I'm bad with numbers and I don’t have the patience for them. Maester Luwin tells me you do.”

Sam blushed. “I like reading. And the library! Oh, how I wish Horn Hill had half the books you have here!”

“I'm sure Maester Luwin will love having you there.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Jon chuckled. “He always complains we don’t read enough. Though I take my lessons seriously — if I'm to be Lord of a castle in a trading post, I must know what trade lines are there.”

“I’ve read amazing things about the Blessed Island,” Sam agreed. “Have you been there yet?”

“No. I… I didn’t want to go without Dany. Daenerys,” Jon explained at Sam’s confused look. “It was Arya’s nickname for her, when she was a toddler. She couldn’t pronounce Daenerys, so she said Dany, and it stuck.”

“Oh. Right.”

“She’ll insist you call her that too.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. Nicknames are for family and friends.”

Jon chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’re part of the household now, not some visitor. Once Dany is done with you, you’ll be her friend, family, or mortal enemy.”

Sam widened his eyes. “I'm not so sure how reassuring that was.”

Jon laughed, and soon Sam joined as well.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

A fortnight passed by faster than Jon could anticipate, and now he walked into the Great Hall with his heart racing. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known this was coming ever since he was old enough to understand marriages, alliances, titles, and such. But it still gave him a thrill to kneel before his father wearing fine clothes. It was his name day, a fortnight before the wedding and almost all of the Northern lords were already at Winterfell, which made the ceremony all the more nerve-wracking.

“Do you swear to protect your land and your people against any threat that might wish to cause them harm?” Ned asked.

“I swear it.”

“Do you swear to be fair to your vassals, to only ask of them what they can offer, and protect them and their families from enemies and famine?”

“I swear it.

“Do you pledge your loyalty to House Stark, to the Warden of the North, to serve as our bannermen and come to our aid whenever called upon?”

“My sword is yours, my loyalty is yours, now and to the rest of time.”

“Do you swear fealty to your King, Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm?”

“I swear it.”

“Arise, Lord Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Blessed Island. May the Old Gods smile upon you and your sons.”

There was a round of applause as the banners went down, revealing themselves to the public for the first time. The following feast was loud and lasted well into the night, and for once Jon could enjoy it without the shadow of Lady Stark over him. She was present, of course, though Ned was still not speaking to her.

Her punishment, however, seemed to also free Sansa from the deception of not treating Jon as her brother in public. Catelyn would have had all of her children stay clear of him, but Robb, being the same age, was too happy to have a friend to care, Arya worshiped the very ground Jon walked on, and Bran and Rickon were too small to understand completely. So that left Sansa. But the girl had always liked Jon, and being friends with Daenerys diminished her mother’s petty influence, so she only pretended in public to not cause trouble.

“So,” Sam said as Robb and Theon went to chase ladies and left them alone in their part of the table, “you are Lord Starling now.”

“Aye, finally!”

Sam frowned. “I have the feeling there’s some hidden meaning behind the sentiment. You did tell me this morning you couldn’t wait to marry Dany.”

“Sorry, it’s just…” Jon sighed. “I know it feels like I'm complaining about the whole pot of gold I just found, it’s just…”

“Jon, we might not have known each other for very long, but you don’t strike me as someone who complains about your good fortune.”

“For so long,” Jon started, lowering his voice, though the feast was loud enough to drown his words, “I was only Ned Stark’s bastard, the boy betrothed to Lady Daenerys Targaryen. I love my father and I love Dany, I just…” he sighed. “I guess I just want to be my own person, to be known for myself and not because my father broke his vows or because the King wanted to shame Dany.”

“Oh. That’s quite sensible, actually. I’d never thought about that.” He blushed then. “And I'm embarrassed now, that is the first thing I said when you introduced yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Look, Jon, the world we live in, it takes work if we want to be known for ourselves. Even your brother. He’ll be Ned Stark’s son and heir until the day he does something that earns himself recognition. Even after he’s Lord Stark, the Northern lords will see him as Ned Stark’s son until he says ‘no, I'm not just Ned Stark’s son, I'm Robb Stark’. You have a name now, and soon we will be living in the Blessed Island. Show people you can be more than Ned Stark’s natural son and Lady Daenerys’ husband. Show them you can be a good lord, but more than that, show them you are Jon Starling. If you want an identity, go out there and get yourself one.”

“I'm not so sure how reassuring that was,” Jon called back with a smile.

Sam joined in the laughter, and soon they had resumed the festive aura from the party around them. Lord Manderly came, dragging Jon to the high table to talk to Ned about incoming shipments from Essos. Ned dismissed the conversation easily enough, claiming it was a day to party, not work, and Jon slipped away, passing though his little sister on his way back to Sam.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jon scolded, pulling Arya’s hand down as the girl prepared to throw something at their sister. “Behave!”

She pouted. “Oh, come on!”

“No, Arya. And this is not…”

“Don’t say it’s not ladylike. I don’t want to be a lady!”

Jon chuckled. “I was going to say it’s not nice, but alright. Now come on, behave or no lessons for a week.” Arya pouted, but relented, too excited for her sword lessons to risk it.

Jon turned to Daenerys, reaching out to grasp her forearm, squeezing it gently. Her hand moved up to grasp his hand, squeezing it back in turn, and lacing their fingers together. He smiled and glanced around to make sure no one was looking, and when he saw that no one was paying attention to them he leaned down to place a sweet kiss on her forehead.

“Enjoying yourself?” Jon asked, entranced by the shining of her purple eyes.

She smiled up to him, eyes bright and full of love. “We just got our House,” she said softly. “Of course I am.”

He smiled back, picking up their goblets for a toast. “To our future.”


	6. 05 Wedding Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-anticipated wedding happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but finals week :/
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 5**

**Wedding bells**

 

Obviously, the calm and happiness was too good to be true. Two days before the wedding, Ned summoned Jon and Daenerys to his study. “We’ve received a raven saying that the King himself is coming to Winterfell.”

“Why?” Jon asked.

Ned sighed. “Affairs of Court. What matters is that the King is coming, and he is bringing the Queen, their children, her brothers, and a whole host of people.”

“And when should we expect His Grace?” Daenerys asked, holding back an eye roll. “Are you delaying the wedding?”

“No,” Ned was quick to answer. “Absolutely not. I sent a missive to King’s Landing informing them of the wedding, though I’m not sure whether Robert is aware of it or not. In any case, we… well, we’re all aware of the situation. So I’d rather have you two well married by the time the King crosses the Neck.”

Daenerys wanted to groan. She’d like nothing more than to avoid Robert Baratheon and his offspring. “I suppose there would be no way to say we’re… I don’t know, going on a voyage after our wedding? Or even going to The Blessed Island?”

Ned sighed. “That could be perceived as a slight, and we should avoid that. I understand it won’t be pleasant for you to be in their presence, Daenerys, but I hope you understand. Robert is King now. To affront that is to risk your life.” Daenerys nodded. “Good. Besides, by the time the group from King’s Landing arrives, you’ll have been married for at least one moon. If they delay in leaving King’s Landing, as will probably happen, knowing Robert the way I do, even better.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Are you nervous?” Sansa asked, brushing Daenerys’ long silver hair.

“No,” she replied with a smile. “I love Jon and I know he loves me. We were always meant to be. What is there to be nervous about?”

Sansa blushed and stayed quiet for a few minutes. “Septa Mordane was talking today… about a wife’s duty.”

Daenerys sighed, understanding where this was going. “Your Septa doesn’t know what she is talking about,” Ayla said, looking up from her sewing.

“But she was taught…”

“Yes, she was taught by those who came before her. Was she ever married?”

Sansa thought for a moment. “Have you been married?” she asked. Ayla looked at the girl and nodded. “She said it hurts.”

“It hurts if your husband is unkind or if he doesn’t care to make it not hurt,” Ayla answered. “But she’s right, the first time isn’t much fun. Later… later it is.”

“She said it’s a sin to enjoy it. That the gods look down on women who enjoy it. We’re meant to see it as a mere task, to fulfil our wifely duty to our lord husband and provide him with heirs. Only… only low women enjoy it.”

“I see,” Ayla said, hiding a chuckle. “Gods forgive me, milady, but if we aren’t meant to enjoy it, why did they make our bodies to enjoy it? I’m not saying to go running to have fun with the first boy to smile at you, no, but the way I see it, the gods, old and new, want us to be happy. ‘Sides, why can men enjoy it and we women can’t?”

“It’s the way the world is,” Sansa said, shrugging.

Daenerys snorted. “Perhaps it shouldn’t be.”

Ayla didn’t bother hiding her chuckle this time. “You’re not changing the world that much by yourself, milady. You can try, but it’s going to take more time than only one lifetime.”

“But the gods…” Sansa started.

“Tell me something girl, you heard of a High Septa? Because I haven’t. These gods you talk about, it’s your mother’s southern gods. Their rules come from the mouth of a man in King’s Landing. Rules and rules and rules, and penitence. To those gods, you’re only doing something right if you’re giving them money or being unhappy. I think the Children and the First Men had the right of it, worshiping the gods of the forest. You don’t hear them telling you to suffer or pay them your hard-earned gold.”

“The First Men used to sacrifice to the Old Gods,” Daenerys said, “Maester Luwin taught us.”

“Yeah, well, men are stupid, doesn’t matter where they’re from. No use in blaming the gods for it.”

“So you’re not afraid, Dany?” Sansa asked. “That it’ll hurt?”

“No. No, I'm not,” Daenerys declared softly. “I… we’ve kissed. And it feels wonderful, Sansa. Besides, it’s Jon. Do you really think he _could_ hurt me?”

Sansa smiled. “I hope Father finds me a husband as kind as Jon one day.”

“Oh, girl, your brother was cut from a rare cloth, he was,” Ayla said, smiling and turning back the shirt she was mending. “It’s in his eyes. But I’m sure your lord father will try his hardest to choose someone who is almost as good.”

Daenerys smiled again, happy, as Sansa picked up the brush once more. She could hardly believe she was getting married in a day. Sansa was soon done with the brushing, tying the long silver strands back into a loose braid.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Dany,” the girl said. “Sleep well. You must look beautiful tomorrow.”

Ayla laughed. “That’ll be hard to change with a night badly slept, milady.”

Sansa left, smiling, and Daenerys, amused, stood from her vanity. “What are you sewing, Ayla? It’s late.”

The housekeeper smiled. “Just a shirt, milady. I’m stocking up on those and mending the ones we have.” Daenerys saw the shirt in question and blushed furiously. Ayla laughed loudly. “Fret not, girl, you’re young and in love, that’s much more than most of you noble folk can say. Now go on to bed.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“Eventually,” Ayla answered and chuckled at the poorly hidden eagerness in the girl’s voice. “Right here on this chair,” she said, pointing her head to the servant’s door she was blocking. “Call it superstition, milady, but the groom doesn’t see the bride before the wedding. ‘Sides, gods know what time those ladies will come for you in the morning, and you and the young Lord have a habit of making me go drag you back.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “A month later and now you’re bothered?”

“Not bothered, no. You’re a princess, milady. That does come with its burdens. Rest easy with the thought that tomorrow night there won’t be anyone to think it unbecoming. You’ll be walking through the front door, not the servant’s back door and I’ll be busy stitching baby blankets.”

Daenerys blushed furiously as she got into bed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_The corridors were eerily empty as she traversed them, not one soul in sight. Finally, she heard some noise and pushed open the door to one of the rooms. There were three people inside. The man had her hair, silver white, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than purple. “Aegon,” he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. “What better name for a king?”_

_“Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked._

_“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the Prince That Was Promised, and his is the Song of Ice and Fire.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. “There must be one more,” he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. “The dragon has three heads.”_

_Daenerys gasped and ran out of the room. Had she just… was that_ Rhaegar _? There was another noise and she followed it wearily. Two heavy doors opened, groaning and creaking, and she found herself in a grand room with a tall ceiling. Across from her, elevated in a dais, was the Iron Throne._

_ I'm in the Red Keep _ _, Dany thought. She stepped forward and faltered in the middle of the room. Behind the throne hung three banners. But they weren’t the Baratheon stag or the Lannister lion. Oh, no. There were three of them, all in equal size, denoting their equal importance._

_Her heart started beating fast, her breathing heavy. To the left, the grey direwolf head in white background she’d grown up with was clearly representing House Stark. To the right stood the three-headed red dragon in a black field representing House Targaryen. In the middle stood a third sigil. A single winter rose, one silver star in each petal, on a black field with red fringes._

_“Winter is coming,” said a voice, making Daenerys turn around._

_It was a woman, beautiful and regal, wearing a most elegant dress, blue as frost. On her head rested a crown of winter roses. She had dark brown hair and grey eyes, the features of a Stark of Winterfell, and Dany felt that was too obvious._

_“Lyanna?”_

_She smiled coyly. “Winter is coming, Daenerys Stormborn.”_

_“Why are you saying this?”_

_“Because it is true. You must decide now where you will stand.” Lyanna smiled. “Make me proud.”_

_Then her face morphed, and in her place stood a tall woman with silver hair and purple eyes. “You’re our daughter. Make us proud, Dany.”_

_Rhaella disappeared, and Daenerys turned again suddenly, drawn by another noise. The banner with the modified Starling sigil waved in the cold air. The Iron Throne stood proud underneath it. My birthright, Dany thought. I'm the last dragon._

_Next to the throne stood a tall white wolf, as tall as a horse. A direwolf. But he didn’t have red eyes. It wasn’t Ghost._

_“What is your choice Daenerys?” the wind whispered. Dany looked from the throne to the wolf._ _What is my choice?_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Wow!” Robb gasped as Dany came down the stairs. “You look…” he was at a loss of words. “You look like a princess!”

Daenerys smiled. “Very appropriate, Robb.”

“You’re right,” he said and chuckled. “I think you might very well make my brother’s heart fail.”

“Well I hope not!” she laughed. “I’d hate to become a widow before the wedding even takes place.”

Robb laughed too, offering her his arm so they could walk out to the godswood. Daenerys’ smile grew as they came closer, seeing the number of people present. But that didn’t matter. Those people were there for political and social reasons. The only one who mattered was the one standing near the heart tree next to his father.

Their path was illuminated by several lanterns, hundreds of candles twinkling in the darkness of the chilly night around them as Robb led her to the weirwood. Daenerys and Jon immediately smiled at each other, to the point their cheeks would hurt, and Ned smiled too, more subdued, as he started the ceremony.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

“Daenerys of the House Targaryen,” Robb said. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Jon stepped forward. “Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Blessed Island. Who gives her?”

“Robb of House Stark, who is her foster brother.”

“Lady Daenerys, do you take this man?” Ned asked.

Daenerys’ smile grew even larger. “I do.”

Robb then raised her hand, kissing the back of it (to annoy Jon, obviously, but he was so happy he didn’t even care) and then gave it to his brother. Jon and Daenerys joined hands and knelt before the heart tree, so the Old Gods could witness their union, and a moment of silence took over the godswood as the entire wedding party took it in prayer.

Once they returned to their feet, Dany turned around and Jon took from her shoulders her black and red cloak bearing the sigil of House Targaryen. Setting it aside, he smiled at Sansa as she brought forward the new cloak. The girls still had no idea how, but Ayla had managed to find some special blue ink and dyed the fabric. So the cloak was, like the winter roses embroidered on it, blue as frost, lined with fluffy grey fur, and not the common blue they saw in other heraldry.

With the wedding finished, Jon led the wedding party back to the Great Hall, which would hold the feast. He was to Ned’s right, the place of honour, and had eyes only for Daenerys as they sat and the food was served.

Many guests had come, from far and near. The Northern Lords were, obviously, hosted within the walls of Winterfell, as were a few of the Southerners friends of House Stark. But with the unique trading position the Blessed Island had, even Essosi merchants had come, what meant Winter Town was overflowing with the visitors and their contingents.

But as the time to receive and open presents came, it was a Pentosi Magister that brought the one most valuable and most dangerous. “Dragon eggs, my Lady Starling, from the Shadowlands beyond Asshai. The ages have turned them to stone, but they are still beautiful.”

Daenerys felt a thrill of excitement travel down her spine. “Thank you, Magister.”

Jon smiled at his wife’s glee, but Ned was worried. “That is a very ostentatious gift, my Lord,” the man said.

Illyrio Mopatis only smiled. “My business has flourished since the trade lines with the Blessed Island were opened, Lord Stark. And I hope they will only grow better from now on. It is a precious gift, but one I hope will mark the start of a long and fruitful friendship.”

Ned clenched his jaw, but could do nothing. “I thank you, Magister,” Jon said, “for such a beautiful and priceless gift. I look forward to a prosperous friendship as well.”

The Magister inclined his head in deference and turned away to leave. A long line followed, but Daenerys never recovered from her amazement at the eggs, and no other gift compared.

It was hours later when, all social etiquette followed, several dances and laughs completed, Theon almost ruined the good mood. “I think it’s time for the bedding ceremony!”

The ale and wine had flown freely, as the occasion demanded, so there was a chorus of agreement among the guests. “I don’t think so, no,” Jon stated clearly.

“Oh, come on, Starling!” Theon slurred, hiccupping. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that I think it highly unbecoming to break your face in half on my wedding night.”

Robb laughed, trying to defuse the situation. “No need for this, lads! Come on, brother, it is tradition!”

“One we will _not_ follow, brother. No one will touch my wife.”

“Enough,” said Ned, hiding his amusement. Jon was more like him than Robb, he’d always been. Lyanna’s blood made him more of a true wolf than Robb’s Tully blood allowed. “There will be no bedding ceremony,” he announced.

There was a loud complaint from lords and ladies both, and Daenerys passed her hand through Jon’s arm, trying to soothe him. “I do think it’s time to go, though,” she said with a hint of a blush.

Jon’s murderous glare vanished, being replaced by a predatory gleam as he turned to her. “I heartily agree.”

They left the Great Hall and traversed the corridors in silence, thick anticipation between them, even with a group of drunken guests following to stand at their door, throwing bawdy comments their way.

Daenerys smiled as the door closed behind them, the racket from the feast in the Hall now finally muffled, though the ‘witnesses’ outside were still causing a raucous. She was thankful, once again, that there had been no bedding ceremony. If Theon’s comments had been bad this way, she couldn’t imagine what he’d have said as he ripped her dress.

“So, husband, finally alone.”

Jon smiled. “Finally, wife.”

“Does that mean you will finally stop holding back?”

Jon smirked, letting his cloak slide to the floor and reaching for hers in a beat. They walked back to the bed in a flurry of lips kissing and hands pulling clothes off, and as they lay on the bed, in a dance they’d well practiced, Jon quickly spread her knees, entranced by the pink flesh glistening with arousal.

“Jon, please,” she whined. This she knew. No matter how much she enjoyed it, they’d spent the past month sneaking away at nights. Her body was begging for his attention in a different way.

“Don’t be impatient,” Jon said, kissing up one of her thighs. “I’m savouring this. Like the finest Arbour Gold.”

Dany whined again, her blood pumping and her thighs shivering. Jon kissed all the way up one thigh, skipped where she was crying for him to go, and down the other thigh. Daenerys finally had enough when he started reversing the process, pulling on his hair and, taking him by surprise, pulling him on top of her to an explosive kiss.

This put his member right against where he was desperate to go. “Fuck,” Jon moaned out against her mouth.

Daenerys moved her hips against his, biting his earlobe in a way she knew drove him crazy. “I’m your wife, Jon,” she whispered sultrily. “Before men and gods, we are bound for eternity. Make it real, Jon. Make me your wife. Claim me so no one can take me from you.”

His plans of going slow and savouring it snapped away like a dry twig. Drunk on her smell, on her presence, he only had enough presence of mind to go slow and carefully push in, aware it might hurt regardless of how ready she was.

Daenerys groaned and as Jon forced the barrier there was a flash of pain, quickly smothered by the fire in her veins. Their eyes were locked, purple and grey, and she could see the same fire burning his irises. Jon forced himself to hold still for a moment, knowing she needed this time to adjust to the intrusion, but slowly succumbed to the roaring blood in his ears that pumped faster each second he was buried inside her warmth.

She undulated her hips, drawing him closer by the legs she wrapped around his waist, and his control snapped, his hips slamming against hers as their moans and groans took over the quietness of the room.

 


	7. 06 The Calm Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the wedding, Jon and Dany wake up as husband and wife for the first time. Catelyn and Ned have a long overdue conversation. And while Sam and Jon deepen their friendship, Dany, no longer bound by being House Stark's ward, has a confrontation with Catelyn. Benjen forces Ned into a conversation the older brother has been avoiding for years. And across the sea, trouble is brewing.

**Chapter 6**

**The Calm Before**

 

Jon woke up in a very familiar situation, with Daenerys sleeping fast in his arms. But this time there was nothing between them. They were both naked, skin against skin. Unable to resist, his hand slid down her side and to every bit of satiny skin he could reach, until she stirred, waking up, burrowing further in his embrace.

“It’s nice to not have Ayla coming to drag me away,” she said sleepily.

Jon chuckled. “Very nice,” he agreed, placing kisses down her throat. “As nice as nice can be.”

Dany gasped, losing herself in the kiss as Jon rolled her onto her back. “We shouldn’t have waited…”

He only smiled. “Should we really argue the point further?”

Daenerys smiled back, catching him by surprise and rolling him on his back. “There are advantages to arguing.”

Jon groaned at her movements. “Yes, there certainly are.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn steeled herself before she knocked on the door, but didn’t give up. _Enough is enough_ , she thought one more time.

“Can I help you with something, Lady Stark?” Ned asked, barely taking his attention from his work.

She almost flinched at his cold tone. “I was wondering if we could speak, Ned.”

The man sighed, putting his quill down and sitting back on his chair. “What is it, Catelyn?”

“I miss you.”

“Do you? Or do you miss being able to do as you pleased?”

She recoiled, wounded. “I miss what we had. What we built together.”

“What did we build? A lie? You know…” he sighed again. “I didn’t marry you for love, Catelyn, and neither did you. We married for duty. We spent our wedding night together then for the next two years we were in opposite sides of the realm. Once we met again, I had betrayed you and you spent another two years resenting me for it. Until one day you allowed our marriage to flourish. I wonder now if your way of forgiving me was blaming Jon.”

“You are my husband…”

“I'm not without flaw. I went to war and I brought home a bastard. More than that, I brought home the daughter of the tyrant I helped overthrow as his betrothed.”

“Daenerys is a princess.”

Ned blinked, a piece falling into place. “Would you rather she was betrothed to Robb?”

Catelyn blushed. “I just… I mean, why reward a _bastard_ …” she spewed the word as if it were poison.

Ned wasn’t able to hold back, laughing loudly. “Oh, Catelyn, how little do you know. Why didn’t you ever talk to me about this? This was no reward. This was a punishment. A punishment for Daenerys and, in Robert’s mind, a way to reward me after I had refused his offer of granting Jon legitimacy in deference to you.”

Catelyn blinked, forcing her chin to not fall open. He had…? But then… before she could recover from the shock, Ned was continuing.

“But it was also a way to needle me for judging him for what happened to Rhaegar’s children during the Sack. Trust me, the capital is not celebrating this. They are laughing at the poor boy saddled with a line of insane children and grandchildren and at the dethroned princess sullied with a bastard line. That’s what Robert wanted. He would never allow a trueborn son to marry Daenerys. Let alone the heir of a Great House. He’d sooner kill them both. And he still might. That’s why I’ve spent so much in fortifying their castle. Robert is very likely to raise arms against them on a whim the minute Daenerys announce she is pregnant.”

“Then why didn’t you push back the wedding?” Catelyn asked, shocked and ashamed at the revelation.

Ned sighed again. “Because rumours started to spread in Court again. Daenerys unmarried was still a threat to Robert’s reign and Tywin Lannister might be bold enough to send an assassin up here, even though Robert wouldn’t dare. But with them married… her line is sullied. Her name is gone. Better yet that it was in time to receive the royal retinue.”

“But why don’t they just _go_? Surely they can stay in the Blessed Island now. It’s no longer a ruin. It can't be, not after so many years of construction.”

Ned was flabbergasted. Granted, Catelyn was a woman, and he knew women were not taught politics as much as men, but gods, what had Hoster Tully taught his daughter? Better yet, what was Catelyn teaching _his_ daughters? How to be perfectly empty headed? How would they make good marriages if they were only trophies on their husbands’ mantles? Maybe he was still biased to how Lyanna was, keen and interested and butting into everything. But… and his headache returned.

“Catelyn, if I send them away the first thing Cersei Lannister is going to say, after she makes a display of being utterly offended, is that I'm hiding them because I'm plotting in Daenerys’ favour. Robert won't believe her, but that’ll cause enough trouble. Let them come, let them see Daenerys as a perfectly subdued Northern wife and everyone will rest easier.”

Catelyn snorted, then admonished herself for the unlady-like behaviour. “That girl does not understand the concept of subdued.”

Ned wanted to laugh again. In what little world did his wife live? “She understands it just fine. It’s just not who she is. But when her life is the prize, she can pretend to be anything she needs to.”

A haughty thought went through his mind. Daenerys had always refused lessons with Septa Mordane (“all due respect Lord Stark,” the girl had said at six-years-old, “but a dragon answers to no god.” Her nanny had laughed and smiled proudly, and Ned saw no reason to deny the girl). But Sansa and Arya… he had allowed Catelyn to manage that. He’d allowed Catelyn to take charge of their children’s education. Oh, Seven Hells, one more thing he’d grossly overlooked!

He couldn’t allow his daughters to be passive pawns, broodmares to give their husbands heirs and nothing else. They needed a basic understanding of the world, though there was no need to make them experts in diplomacy. Arya, who was too much like her aunt in more than only looks, would certainly be taking her lessons with Maester Luwin more to heart than those with Septa Mordane. But Sansa was the perfect lady. She dreamt of princes and knights and songs. Ned sighed. He couldn’t allow their heads to remain focused on simply nonsense. How else were they to manage a keep? To manage vassals and servants without offending anyone? He would talk to the maester, see what they could do about the girls’ lessons.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon looked dismayed at the pile of paperwork. “Do we have to?” he whined.

“Yes, we do, Lord Starling.” Sam said with a laugh.

Jon rolled his eyes. “I told you to call me Jon.”

“Fine, fine. I'm sorry, I know you'd rather be in the training yard now, but you can hardly ask your father to keep managing your lands, now can you?”

Jon sighed. “I thought that was why I was paying you.”

“Oh, so here we have the ulterior motive of my dashing rescue from the fate of a black cloak.”

“That's not what I meant,” Jon grumbled, sitting down.

“I know,” Sam chuckled. “And I have taken the brunt of the work, but for one you need to sign things and second, I can hardly do as I please without consulting my Lord.”

“I think I'd rather be a kid again…”

“Would you really?”

Jon smiled. “Very bad thing to say the day after my wedding, isn't it?”

Sam laughed. “Don't let Dany hear you. Unless you want her to actually use her bed.”

“No, thank you, that bed is only decorative.”

They laughed together as Jon picked the first pack of the pile.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn walked into the sewing room to find Septa Mordane supervising the other girls and with a very sour look, mostly directed at the huddle in the corner that encompassed Sansa, Arya, and Daenerys. “What are you three doing?”

Sansa jumped back, panic filling her face, and Arya sighed before turning. Daenerys looked up, but wasn't the least bothered. “I'm working on new clothes for myself, Lady Stark. Sansa and Arya were giving their opinion.”

Catelyn looked at the cloth in the girl’s hands. “For yourself? Those are leather breeches.”

“They are. _Riding_ breeches.”

Catelyn was shocked. “You are a lady!”

“Last time I checked, yes, I am,” Dany said, and Arya bit back a chuckle.

“You have no business wearing breeches! Let alone riding breeches! Whatever would you need them for?”

“I would have thought it obvious, Lady Stark. For riding, of course.”

“Ladies don’t ride a horse astride! What would people think?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“I will not allow it!” Catelyn yelled. The other ladies, who had been pretending to still be invested in their own work, looked up and abandoned their needles.

Daenerys squared her shoulders, having prepared for the confrontation. “I will forever be grateful to Lord Stark for fostering me,” Catelyn bristled at the clear implication, “but I'm no longer a ward of House Stark. I am Lady Starling and I shall run my household as I see fit.”

“You may run your household to the ground for all I care,” Catelyn said lowly, “the moment you get to the Blessed Island. But you are in Winterfell, and you will do as I say when I say it!” she snatched the unfinished breeches. “This will be made for one of the boys or it will be torn to shreds!”

Daenerys stood up at once, wincing slightly. “You are not my mistress, Lady Stark. I don’t have to do as you order me.”

“You are in my home!”

“I am a guest in your home, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t wear what I please so long as I am not disrespectful.”

“Wearing breeches is a disrespect! A disrespect to your hosts and your gods!”

Daenerys scoffed. “Gods have better things to concern themselves with than what I wear or not!”

“You do not get to criticise the gods, you insolent girl!”

“Criticise?” Daenerys was taken aback. “I didn’t criticise anyone! Except perhaps your lack of sense just now!”

“Oh, you…!” Catelyn seemed ready to step forward and strike Daenerys but the whole situation changed as the door opened.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ned asked, looking around the room. “You can hear the yelling from the training yard!”

“This girl is being disrespectful! Oh, but what can be expected from a child forced to marry a _bastard_!”

“Enough!” Ned snapped powerfully, seeing Daenerys ready to slap Catelyn. “I will not have that word spoken about my son ever again, Catelyn! You do so one more time at your own peril. _Anyone_ does so again and it will be an insult to myself and my House. Now, I want to know what is the meaning of this. You are highborn ladies, not low women yelling for the last fish in the barrel.”

“I was making myself new clothes, Lord Stark,” Daenerys started, though her voice and hands shook with anger, “and Lady Stark came, accused me of being improper and forbade me to wear them because I was being disrespectful to the gods.”

Ned blinked. He must have heard wrong. “Disrespectful to the _gods_?” he asked and Dany nodded. “And why, in the name of the old gods and the new, would they ever care about what someone wears? Were you for some reason debasing yourself, Lady Starling?”

“She is making breeches!” Catelyn yelled, waving the leather in front of herself. “Breeches, Ned! To ride astride a horse!”

Ned looked from Catelyn’s face to the piece of garment. “I’m failing to see the problem.”

Catelyn was apoplectic. “She is a Lady! She has no business sitting astride a horse! Only whores—”

Everyone in the room gasped. That wasn’t a word you heard everyday among highborn ladies. Ned’s face was stormy. “Considering my own sister only rode horses astride and was considered by the whole North as a very good rider, I’d take great care with my next words if I were you.” He warned and Catelyn deflated, suddenly ashamed and quiet. “If Lady Starling wishes to wear breeches and ride horses, this is a matter of House Starling, to be discussed between Lord and Lady Starling. You have no say in the matter, Catelyn.”

“I do when her action poisons the minds of my daughters! It’s a sin, Ned!”

“I don’t see how. And I can hardly judge as such when doing so would implicate shaming my lord father and lady sister, not to mention the generations of Starks before me. This is how things are done in the North, Lady Stark.”

“My daughters will not…”

“ _My_ daughters,” Ned said in a low and assertive voice, “are daughters of the North and they will ride as they please. Therefore, unless you’d rather they hitch their skirts up and put their thighs on display to the world, I suggest you allow them to wear breeches. _For riding_ ,” he insisted, looking straight at Arya, who was happy all the same.

Catelyn threw the leather breeches on the table, turned around, and left the room in a right fury. Arya jumped up to hug her father. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Ned chuckled, hugging her back. “I mean it, Arya. The breeches are for riding, and only that. You’re still a Lady.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll go ask Ayla to help me find more leather.”

And with that she was gone. “I'm sorry, Lord Stark,” Daenerys said, “I never meant to create a scene.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Daenerys. You were in the right, and Catelyn needed to hear it. Now go, finish your clothes.”

“Ned?” Benjen called from the door.

“What is it?”

“It’s Winter. She’s sick.”

Feeling his heart shrink again, Ned quickly followed his brother all the way to the stables.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“What is wrong with her?” Ned asked as soon as they came into the back of the stables. Winter was lying on the ground pillowed with straw and Jon was rubbing her neck. The Lord’s heart pulsed painfully.

“Old age, milord,” Joseth, the horse trainer, said.

“What did Hullen say?” Ned asked, looking around but not seeing the master of horse in the stables.

The other man shrugged. “He went to Maester Luwin to see to a remedy or other, but said she won't make it much longer no. She’s the oldest here. Been getting stubborn with age, milord. Only Lord Starling can get her to calm down these days.”

Ned curved one side of his mouth in a half smile. Of course Jon would manage to handle the most stubborn mare Winterfell had ever seen. Only one other person before had.

“She calms down with her offspring too,” Benjen said. “But only Jon can get her to calm down completely, even with Hullen and Joseth present.”

Ned sighed, dismissing the stableman. “I brought that mare back all the way from Dorne,” he said quietly to his brother. “I just wanted one last piece of her to stay alive.”

Benjen smiled. “It is. As much as Lya loved that mare, as much as they were compliments of each other, one part of—” Ned threw him a censoring look and Benjen quietened. “Did they even ever tell you the ironic part?”

Ned frowned. “What part?”

Benjen chuckled. “You said when you left King's Landing you needed more horses. You went to the stables and managed to save his prized horse from Robert’s order of ‘cleansing’.”

“I know. It was cruelty to a horse that never chose its master.”

Benjen laughed again. “Every colt and filly Winter birthed was sired by that stud. After he died, she took no other partner, birthed no other foal. She only answers to Jon, is only soothed by him, and her foals are stubborn little things, wild and irreverent, and only Jon can tame them.”

“This is a funny little world we live in, brother,” Ned said with a chuckle.

“It is. And magic is subtle within it.”

“We are not discussing this again, Benjen,” Ned said, sighing, anticipating the tiresome argument from which they both already knew the other’s position.

“Big brother,” Benjen insisted, “he is old enough—”

“No, he isn't,” Ned cut in drily, his dark mood getting the best of him. “They might be married, but they are children. And I won't…” he took a deep breath. “I won't have this out when Robert is on his way north.”

Ned turned to leave, but Benjen’s words still caught him. “Are you afraid of Robert or are you afraid he won't forgive you? That he won't call you Father again?”

Ned stormed off without answering.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“How is Winter?” Daenerys asked as Jon walked in the room.

He sighed. “Not very good. Hullen said she won't gallop anymore, not with that leg. Standing will be painful for her, so she’ll probably lie down as much as she can. And horses don’t do well on the ground, so she’ll just…”

“She is old, Jon. She lived a long and happy life.”

“I know. It’s just… I don’t know why I like her so much.”

“I don’t think this is the kind of answer we’re supposed to have. She is the mother of your own stud, the little foal you grew up with.”

Jon chuckled. “Uncle Benjen used to call me a centaur. When I was younger. Do you remember?”

Dany smiled. “I do. You went on the back of that foal as soon as you both learned to walk. You grew up together. You have a bond. Like you and Ghost do.” She laughed. “You know, when we were children and Lady Stark was telling me you were wicked and no good at all, I remember watching you with your nanny, playing with Winterstorm, and thinking ‘how can he be bad if he is so kind?’”

Jon smiled. “I love that horse. Which reminds me, did you manage to make your breeches?”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Yes. _She_ came in, though, and we started arguing. Your father intervened.”

Jon frowned and she told him what had happened that afternoon. He chuckled. “Well, at least she’ll be properly embarrassed before her beloved gods once Arya starts riding around.”

“You should have seen her face when your father told her to allow breeches or Arya would show her thighs to everyone,” Dany laughed. “I thought she’d fall back with the vapours.”

Jon laughed too, wrapping his arms around his wife. “Then let me know when your riding clothes are ready. I have a surprise for you.”

She smiled, but no amount of prompting and teasing made him tell her. In the end, the subject ended when Jon rolled her beneath him and their lips joined.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Benjen was waiting for his brother in his study. Ned sighed as he walked in, seeing the other man’s determined face and knowing what was coming.

“I'm not in the mood for this conversation, little brother.”

“We’ll have it anyway,” Benjen said, uncaring for Ned’s uneasiness. “You didn’t answer me, what are you afraid of?”

Ned looked guiltily to the fire crackling in the hearth before looking back to Benjen. “Robert. Nothing is more important than Jon’s safety. If… if his hatred is the price I must pay for his life, it is one that I will pay, however bitterly I shall feel.”

“I’ll never dispute your position as his father, but—”

“Yet you will all the same.”

“Ned, please…”

“Everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit, Benjen.”

“Jon deserves to know, Ned,” Benjen insisted. “It’s his life.”

“Exactly. It’s his _life_. I won't allow it to become his death!”

“He deserves to know where he comes from! He deserves to know who his mother is!”

“He deserves to live!” Ned yelled back. “I promised her I’d protect him,” he lowered his voice, aware that walls often had ears.

“I doubt she would’ve wanted…”

“She’s no longer here to say what she wanted.”

Benjen looked at his brother seriously. “Will you ever forgive her for leaving?” he asked and Ned clenched his jaw, looking away. “Will you ever forgive _yourself_?”

“If I had been there…”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference, big brother. You _know_ that. Deep down you do.” Benjen stopped and sighed, finishing his sentence in a whisper. “Lyanna was impulsive, but it was Brandon wishing to delay his marriage, making the stupidity of disregarding Lya’s message, and riding south to King's Landing that ruined everything. And I think it’s time you accepted that.”

“She loved you most,” Ned said quietly as well.

Benjen sighed, his hand on the doorknob. “Maybe. Or maybe she just loved playing with me more than brooding with you. But since we’re being honest, if I had been standing right next to you when she made the choice, Jon would still be calling _you_ his father.”

Benjen left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ned kept looking at the fireplace. He was getting too old for this. And though it pained him to admit, Benjen was right. Ned was too old to be afraid of ghosts.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Across the Narrow Sea, Ser Jorah Mormont arranged passage on a ship headed west. The Dothrak woman who had brought him the information that would allow him to go home was walking down the harbour, trading for new clothes and food for their journey.

How valuable, he wondered, would Robert Baratheon think his information was? Well, he’d find out as soon as he got to King's Landing and found a little bird to pass on the song.

 


	8. 07 The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Royal family and the Court get to Winterfell and there is a conspiracy taking place. All hell breaks loose on the night of the welcome feast, which is full of surprises.

**Chapter 7**

**The Storm**

 

Daenerys bit back a sigh as she resigned herself to bend her knees in a curtsy while the horses and carriages entered the courtyard. As Lord Stark had predicted, the royal entourage had taken longer than expected to leave the capital, so she and Jon had now been married for almost four moon-turns.

“And you!” bellowed the fat King, passing through the line of family members, of which she and Jon stood at the end. “Don’t need anyone to tell me who you are, with this accursed hair and purple eyes! The last Targaryen!”

“I am Lady Daenerys of House Starling, Your Grace,” she said in her most subdued little voice, though her skin crawled with the appearance of weakness, “and by your mercy I have been granted a chance to rid myself of the shameful name of the man who fathered me.”

Robert laughed heartily. “Shameful indeed. And I see being raised by someone with brains has made you behave! And you! You must be the bastard!”

Jon held back a flinch. “Yes, Your Grace. I owe to my King’s grace and mercy my name, my House, and my lands.”

“Indeed you do.” The King huffed and then plucked one of the winter roses Daenerys had taken to weaving in her braids since the wedding. “What’s this? A Targaryen with a winter rose!”

“It is the sigil of our House, Your Grace,” Jon said. He and Daenerys had agreed she should stay as quiet and meek as possible, lest it give the King cause to be cruel. They were only too familiar with Lady Stark’s southern pettiness.

“The sigil!” Robert yelled. “And you allowed this, Ned!”

“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” Jon said, while Daenerys forced herself to look at her feet. _Life or death, Dany_ , Jon had insisted. “I simply like the flower.”

“It’s a flower, Robert. Let it go,” Ned said, his anxiety rising. He'd prayed Robert wouldn't have cared, but that had failed. He needed to steer the conversation in another direction quickly, before Robert had any time to have stray thoughts. Maybe allowing winter roses as their sigil had been too daring. Maybe he should've made sure nothing at all connected Jon to Lyanna.

The King huffed again. “Very well. But I want no sight of this on a Targaryen while I'm around!”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Daenerys replied as Ned barely concealed a huge sigh of relief. “I shall have it removed at once. Had I known it would upset you, I wouldn’t have dared.”

The King scoffed, throwing the flower on the ground and making a show of stomping on it, then demanded to be led to the crypt. Once he and Ned left, Lady Stark quickly led the rest inside the castle.

“What was that about the flower?” Daenerys whispered to Jon.

“No idea,” he said with a shrug. “Best to appease him, though,” he helped her pluck out the flowers down her braid where she couldn’t reach.

“I can think of another man I’d rather appease,” Dany said with a smirk.

“Hold that thought until tonight,” Jon chuckled. “You know, I'm not sure it was such a great idea to allow you to hire that handmaiden.”

“I thought you were thoroughly enjoying my… education.”

Jon bit his lip and had to remind himself they were in public. “Temptress.”

Daenerys only laughed. They were pulled into obligations and tasks then, helping settle the guests and organise last-minute details of the feast. She was going up to her room to change when she crossed paths with the Queen. Holding back her true opinion, she curtsied again.

“Stop pretending, dear, you’re not very good at it,” Cersei said.

“I'm sorry, my Queen, but I don’t follow.”

“Yes, you do. The last thing you want to do is bow to me and the King.”

“I still don’t understand your meaning, Your Grace,” Dany said, though she did understand perfectly. But playing dumb was a skill essential to survival as long as she was around Court and the Royal Family.

“Oh, girl, you are good,” Cersei smirked wickedly. “You would’ve been raised a princess if not for the rebellion.”

“It is not for me to question the ruling of the realm, Your Grace. I'm alive by the King’s grace and Lord Stark’s kindness.”

“See to it your claws don’t grow, little dragon. My father allowed you to live once, for political reasons. You threaten the throne, you won't live much longer.”

“I'm not sure how much of a threat I can be, my Queen. I have no money and no army.”

“You have a name.”

Daenerys finally allowed her shoulders to square. “If a name was everything, Your Grace, this realm wouldn’t be ruled by Tywin Lannister. In all but _name_ , of course.”

“I see gossip travels even to the far North,” Cersei said drily as her eyes gleamed with irritation.

“If the Royal Family does, why wouldn’t tales?”

“You’re like your brother. Rhaegar. His tongue was sharp too. Now, how did that work out for him? Smashed and fallen at the Trident, if I remember correctly. Keep that in mind, little lizard. Robert may have bought your act, but I haven’t.”

Cersei walked away, followed by her entourage of ladies. Daenerys clenched her jaw and, with Ayla’s hand pulling her elbow, resumed her way to her bedchambers.

Hours later, she was rushing down to the Great Hall for the feast, having sent Jon ahead, when her arm was seized by a hand. Daenerys gasped as she was turned around to face Joffrey.

“I wonder how a dragon spawn like you can be so pretty,” the prince said, holding her arm with such strength she was feeling like it was about to snap.

“Thank you, my Prince, but I'm afraid my husband…”

Joffrey snorted. “Your husband! That bastard! He doesn’t deserve a princess!”

“I am no princess, Your Grace. My title died when my House died. I owe my life to the mercy of your lord father.”

“Stripped of your title, but born a princess, nonetheless. Are you as sweet as what the songs say of princesses? Well, I ought to find out.” Joffrey snarled, face close enough to hers that she could feel his breath on her face and see a malicious glint in his venomous green eyes.

Daenerys tried to free her arm, but Joffrey only held her other one as well. “I hardly think this is appropriate, Your Grace. My husband expects me.”

“Your bastard husband. He doesn’t deserve a princess.”

Daenerys kicked upwards, making Joffrey gasp and release her. She rushed down the hall, but the Prince recovered quickly and ran after her, pulling her hair and then throwing her on her back on the floor. She felt so scared, so helpless, she couldn’t even react when Joffrey in turn pulled her up by her hair again and pushed her against the wall. He was about to rip down her dress when a punch to his jaw pushed him away from Daenerys.

Making sure she didn't have any obvious wounds, Jon advanced on the Prince, who was yelling and demanding he be arrested. Robb, who had come after his brother, immediately broke the fight, aware of the consequences. Jon went to his wife, who had crumpled to the floor.

“Hey, are you hurt?” he asked, looking her over, needing to see she was fine with his own eyes, which focused in the angry red handprints she had on both arms like unpleasant bracelets.

She bit her lip and he could see she was trying to be strong, but finally shook her head. Her wound was in her heart, not her flesh. The confusion drew attention from the Great Hall, though. “Let’s take Lady Starling to her chambers, my Lord,” said Maester Luwin, “so I can see to her.”

“None of this!” Robert bellowed. “I want to know what this scuffle is about. Everyone is coming. Ned! Where can we talk?”

The Lord clenched his jaw and led the way to his study, where the King immediately took the place at the desk. Ned, Catelyn, Robb, Maester Luwin, Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion stood on the sides while Jon, Daenerys, and Joffrey stood across from the desk. Jon had squeezed Dany’s hand in warning, so she was looking down, tears (that weren’t actually fake) running down her face.

“Very well,” said Robert, “now that everyone is here, what in the bloody hells happened?”

“That bastard—”

“Look how you address people, boy!” Robert snapped, and for the first time Jon felt something other than utter hatred for the man, even though the King had called Jon the same thing just that afternoon. “You were saying, about Lord Starling?”

“He struck me!” Joffrey exclaimed, and was even more furious with his father’s rebuke. “Punched me and when I fell he attacked me! And before that, that whore—”

“Manners, boy!”

“Lady Starling, then, bloody Lady Starling kicked me!”

Daenerys clenched her jaw to keep herself from speaking up. _They’ll try to provoke you_ , uncle Benjen had said before he left, _they’ll try to get a rise out of you and the moment, the very moment you talk back they’ll brand you a rebel and a threat to Robert’s reign and send you to the executioner’s block. I know it’s not you, my niece, but you must be meek. They must believe Jon’s completely loyalty to the King and your complete submission to your husband, or you’ll both be dead within the week._

“And why, pray tell, would either of them do that?!” Robert asked, a glint of something in his eyes. Joffrey cowered, and if he weren’t standing far enough away, Jon was sure he would’ve hidden behind his mother. “Now you, Lord Starling, what do you say happened?”

“I didn’t see my wife kicking the Prince, Your Grace, but I saw him pinning her to the wall and trying to rip her dress as she cried, told him to stop, and fought back. I struck him only to protect my wife and push him away from her.”

“To attack a man’s wife in his own home!” Robert roared. “Have you no brains, you little shit!”

“My love,” said Cersei, who was fuming behind her venomous green eyes, “perhaps it was Lady Starling who allowed for the advances, and then played innocent once her husband caught her.”

“And she kicked Joffrey to help his advances, did she?”

“He admitted to raising a hand against his Prince,” Cersei insisted, “that offence is punishable by losing one’s hand.”

“Stopping a graver offence will not be met with punishment!” Robert bellowed. “You! Girl! Speak up! What do you say happened?”

Actually shaking, Daenerys looked up at Jon, making a show of asking permission to speak. “You heard our King,” Jon said, though it tasted bitter in his mouth to treat her as such, “answer the question.”

“I was on my way down to the Great Hall, Your Grace,” Dany said in a small voice, “when Prince Joffrey said…” she looked at Jon quickly. “He stopped me and said I looked beautiful for being a dragon spawn, and that my lord husband was a…” she shivered. “He didn’t deserve me, because of his birth, because I was a princess.”

Robert bristled. “House Targaryen is no more.”

“I know, my King. I'm ever so grateful to what I have, I wouldn’t dare ask for more. I deserved to be thrown from the battlements for the crimes my father committed.” Dany looked to Catelyn, daring her to contradict almost. House Stark was in danger now, too.

“The girl was taught respect and her proper place, Your Grace,” Catelyn thankfully played along. “I made sure of it.”

“Your wife is a compliment to you, Ned!” Robert was amused. “Continue, girl.”

“I insisted my lord husband expected me in the Great Hall for the feast, my King,” she went on, swallowing back the rising bile, “but Prince Joffrey, he… he pushed me, then pulled my hair, pulled me to the ground when I tried to run and then pushed me against the wall. I… I only remember crying, begging him to stop before my lord husband arrived.”

Joffrey shrunk even more as his father’s face grew redder with the tale, but then seemed to gather some courage. “I demand they apologise! I’m the Prince!”

“You could be king or even a god yourself and it wouldn’t have given you the right!” Robert yelled, his face crimson now, slamming a hand on the desk.

 _Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped your aunt, Lyanna Stark_ , Jon remembered Old Nan once telling them. _He thought he was the Prince of Dragonstone and he could do as he pleased. He took her and raped her, and Robert rose in rebellion. She was his betrothed, you see, and he loved her more than it was sensible._ Could they hope for Robert’s aversion to rape being bigger than his anger at Targaryens?

“The penalty for rape is to lose your parts or go the Wall,” Robert said, and the whole room held their breaths. “As you are the Prince, and you were stopped before your foolishness was concretised, I will lift the punishment. Given that you apologise to Lord and Lady Starling.”

“Apologise! Apologise! I will not—”

“I think you mean, dear nephew,” Tyrion said giving Joffrey a pointed look, making the boy acquiesce, “that you will think long and hard and compose a worthy apology. Isn’t that right?”

“Of course,” Cersei intervened, “that is what Joffrey meant.”

Robert scoffed. “You will apologise now, and think of your fucking long and worthy apology later.”

“I will not apologise to a dethroned lizard!” Joffrey yelled, taking Jon by surprise and pushing him out of the way before throwing Daenerys down and kicking her. Jon recovered and pushed him away, Robb right at his side.

Daenerys cried out in pain, though, and as Robb stood guard, Jon knelt next to his wife, across from Maester Luwin, barely hearing Robert’s yells over his thumping heart.

“Maester, how is the Lady?” Robert asked moments later, when Joffrey had been pulled back behind Jaime and Cersei was holding her son. “Your apology will be epic, boy! And public!”

“I'm afraid an apology will not help the child,” Maester Luwin said, bringing a bloodied hand from under Daenerys’ cloak and holding it out for all to see.

And like that Jon felt his blood leave his head and his legs would have given out if he were standing. Daenerys, still clutching her middle, squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry,” she whispered in his ear.

From there, it was all a bit of a daze. The King went back to yelling and Joffrey seemed terrified of his father’s wrath. Even Catelyn seemed moved by the news. Jon took several deep breaths trying to…

“Your Grace?” he called as Robert took a breathing break, “If I may have your leave, I’ll take Lady Starling to her bedchambers where the Maester will see to her better.”

“Of course,” Robert said, red as an apple. “The Prince will present a formal retraction to the Court tomorrow, and you and I will speak on this issue.”

“Thank you, my King.”

“Lady Starling won't be attending Court tomorrow, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin said. “She is confined to chambers, as a matter of fact.”

“Certainly. You are excused, Lady Starling, with my sincerest apologies.”

Jon nodded, hoisting Dany up in his arms and leaving the room. The way to their chambers was quick and quiet, and Ayla was stirring a teapot on the fireplace as they walked in. She immediately frowned, rushing to pull back the bed covers. “What happened?”

“It didn’t—” Daenerys winced as Jon settled her on the bed, “it didn’t exactly go to plan.”

“Plan?” Jon asked, midway through removing her boots. “What… wait, this was _planned_?”

“Of course not,” Dany said, lying back, very uncomfortable. “The plan was merely to have me pass out and seemingly miscarry so I could be sequestered to quarters and not have to face the Court. The Queen is plotting something and you remember what uncle Benjen said. I was not expecting Joffrey to actually attack me.”

“So you… you weren’t even pregnant?”

“No, I'm—”

“Yes, she is,” Ayla said, bringing a mug of tea that smelled very good. Dany frowned. “You haven’t bled since you flowered. And there are other symptoms. Trust me, I know them. You are with child.”

Jon was astounded. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Daenerys asked.

“Because I wanted to wait another moon-turn to be sure. But look at you, your discomfort is telling. Drink that, milady, it’ll do you good.”

“Will she…” Jon cleared his throat. “Joffrey kicked her. Is the babe…?”

Ayla finished opening Daenerys’ gown as Maester Luwin walked in with his healing kit. The woman felt her mistress’ abdomen. “You haven’t bled—”

“But I saw the blood!” Jon exclaimed, growing more confused each moment.

“Chicken’s blood I held in my hands to fool the King and the Queen, my Lord,” Maester Luwin said.

“My dress and small clothes are clean, Jon,” Dany said, soothing him.

“And the belly is still firm, so that means you haven’t lost the child,” Ayla stated. “Any pain?” she asked and Daenerys nodded. “Rest, then,” the housekeeper ordered. “A lot of it. Maester?”

“I have little to add to your expertise, Ayla,” the man said with a smile. “The next few hours and days should give us a better answer, but I don’t think we need to worry.”

Jon nodded, still worried. Maester Luwin did some more examination before saying all looked well and leaving. Ayla insisted Daenerys finished her tea saying it was good for the babe, but also left as soon as the mug was empty.

“I'm so sorry,” Jon mumbled when they were left alone.

Daenerys chuckled quietly. “How is it you always find a way to blame yourself?”

“I… I shouldn’t have left you alone, I should have been with you…”

“We are _home_ , Jon,” she insisted. “How could we…” she sighed. “How could we imagine someone would be stupid enough to attack their host’s good-daughter? Cersei making insinuations and throwing insults is one thing, but attempted…” she shivered, disturbed by the thought.

Jon sighed, knowing arguing with her would be pointless. As usual. So he wrapped his arms around her and brought her close, as though the lack of distance would protect her. “You’ll have plenty of rest and everything will be fine. You are strong. And so is our child.”

“Yes. Dragon and wolf,” she laughed. “Would you rather a boy or a girl?”

“Healthy will do,” he said honestly, though he couldn’t deny he wished for a little boy to teach how to be a man. “But perhaps a girl,” Jon changed his mind as a stray thought crossed his mind. “Dragon and wolf, you said, but we’re no longer either. She can be our little blue winter rose.”

Daenerys smiled, moved, and drew him closer for a kiss.

 


	9. 08 Torn Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lannisters talk about what happened; Ned thinks on everything; Ayla gives away a bit of her past; Catelyn visits Daenerys, which leads to a confrontation with Jon and later Ned;

**Chapter 8**

**Torn Asunder**

 

Cersei yelled out in pure frustration, throwing a vase across the room, smashing it against the rock walls of her guest bedchamber.

“Be more subtle, won’t you, sister,” Tyrion said, pouring himself a goblet of wine and completely undisturbed by the display of anger.

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Cersei asked, breathing hard.

“On the contrary, I’m greatly dismayed. Though I will say I warned you this was a stupid plan and had more chances of failing than working. Now lo and behold, it failed and it backfired terribly. Robert is more than ever reassured that his good ol’ friend managed to turn the dragon into a house pet and that his son is keeping her tightly leashed. And the one thing that might give us an edge, a child to continue the Targaryen bloodline, was taken in such a violent manner that Robert will never begrudge House Starling their children.”

“It was not supposed to happen like this! Joffrey was supposed to be sensible—”

“Dear sister, if you expected sense, you used the wrong boy.”

“Just a moment,” Jaime interrupted before the mood got worse. “Can someone explain what in the bloody hells is happening?”

“Our dear sister had the brilliant idea of prompting Joffrey to take that girl and bed her. Well, I believe her words were a little coarser, but let us keep the conversation civil.”

“Cersei!” Jaime exclaimed.

“She was supposed to get pregnant from it or at least near enough that would raise the question,” the Queen explained. “Then we could tell Robert and he wouldn’t accept a bastard grandchild with dragon blood, and he’d accuse her of trying to ingratiate herself to the throne, so he’d kill the girl before she could give birth and we would be rid of her threat.”

“You cannot have expected this to work!” Jaime exclaimed in shock.

“It had everything to work!” Cersei insisted.

“It had everything to fail!” Jaime snapped back. “Tyrion is right, this had everything to blow up in our faces and it did!”

“Cersei,” Tyrion cut in, “by your own admission the girl was pretending for Robert. She’s smart, she would know Robert would never accept a bastard grandchild that not only had dragon blood but was also born of an adulterous affair. Well, not when Joffrey was not the one committing adultery. She would have passed the child as her husband’s. You know how that works, don’t you, sister?”

“The point,” Jaime had to physically jump between his siblings, “is that now Daenerys Targaryen is virtually untouchable. Again. You had to have realised Robert wouldn’t take lightly to rape. After so many years, and you still don’t know that he takes rape almost as seriously as he takes treason?”

“Lyanna Stark,” Cersei scoffed. “Fucking Lyanna Stark. Foiling my plans even from the grave.”

“It’s even a bigger mistake because your master plan was set in motion here,” Tyrion said. “And after your foolish husband spent the afternoon staring at Lyanna Stark’s statue and reminiscing about their love. Joffrey cost us not only the elimination of the Targaryen threat but also the alliance with the North.”

Cersei scoffed again. “We don’t need an alliance with the North.”

“Yes, we do,” Tyrion said, rolling his eyes. “Especially now that Daenerys Targaryen is beyond our reach once more. Our one way to ensure House Stark, and by extension the whole North, would declare for us and not the dragon and her bastard husband was to have Sansa Stark betrothed to Joffrey, better yet that this was what Robert wanted.”

“I doubt my husband changed his mind.”

Tyrion laughed, almost choking in his wine. “You cannot truly be expecting Ned Stark to agree with it after the deplorable scene we just witnessed. I knew Joffrey is a little shit, but I wasn’t expecting that. You saw how he treated the girl, throwing her on the ground and kicking her in front of everyone, leading her to miscarriage in the arms of her own husband. And that is because he usually has others do his dirty work. Who is to say what he’ll do to his own wife within his bedchambers? Ned Stark will never subject his daughter to that. Even if she’s to be queen.”

“I will fix it,” Cersei said. “I’ll talk to Robert. Or Father will…”

“Not even Father would be bold enough to send a man up here after what just happened,” Tyrion said, predicting his sister’s idea. “We must accept the fact that Daenerys Targaryen is, once again, shielded.”

“Accidents do happen, she could just—”

“Enough!” Jaime exclaimed, cutting the pointless argument short. “There’s been enough for one night. Tyrion is right, the girl is untouchable. And this pathetic display will haunt us for years yet. As if House Stark and House Lannister didn’t have enough grievances already. Now, little brother, would you give us a minute?”

“Far from me to be in your way,” Tyrion said, putting his goblet down and jumping to his feet. “Just please remember that we don’t need a second scandal tonight.”

He left the room quickly and Cersei stared after him angrily. Once the door was closed, Jaime barred it and turned back to his sister. “How could you, Cersei?” he asked in a low voice.

“Daenerys Targaryen was a threat to our family.”

“But rape? Throw her down a flight of stairs, off a horse, whatever, but not rape, Cersei. That is just…”

“You don’t have the stomach to…”

“No,” Jaime stated clearly, the faint screams of a lovely queen he was meant to protect still echoing in his ears, haunting his thoughts through one decade and a half of misery. “I have the stomach for quite a lot, but not for rape.”

“The girl—”

“Is a child. And even if she weren’t, how can you, as a woman, even think about this?”

“How many times have I been raped? How many times has Robert taken me against my will? We grow to accept it.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “Just because you suffer the unspeakable you inflict it on others? You know what, I can’t even talk about this right now. I have to go figure out where your fool of a husband is and pray I don’t have to guard his door.”

With that, Jaime left the room. Cersei broke three more vases before sliding to the floor, shaking in anger.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned was pacing from one side to the other of his now empty study. This day was amounting to be too long already. What had Robert taught his son? Nothing, apparently. He closed his eyes, the scene of the blond boy pushing Jon away and attacking Daenerys, there in front of everyone… he'd been too shocked to react, but now he could see that it was no small wonder that his son — his sons, for Robb was right there next to his brother — didn't have an angrier reaction. Though he supposedly punching the Prince once and being more worried about his wife seemed coherent with Jon’s character. That and Ned and Benjen had impressed on both him and Daenerys the absolute, utmost importance of being careful around the Lannisters. He should’ve spoken up sooner. He would have, except… saying out loud Joffrey’s actions mimicked that which had led Robert to war once… no, it was always better to keep Lyanna’s name as far away from Jon’s as possible. The sigil of winter roses had been enough. But on the other hand, if Ned had meddled earlier, Joffrey wouldn’t have… Maester Luwin finally returned to the study.

“The child? And Daenerys?” Ned asked.

“I can't be certain but it looks like everything will be fine. Though she will be in seclusion now, my Lord.”

“Of course. I'll have a guard...”

“Lord Starling already ordered a guard to be posted at their door at all times. And Ayla and the handmaiden are scheduling turns to not leave Lady Starling alone at any given moment.”

Ned nodded, retaking his place on the desk. “What was the boy thinking?”

“Perhaps the Prince thought he was unreachable by the King’s justice. Or perhaps the boy was whipped into acting against Lady Starling.”

Ned sighed. “I do not miss southern petty politics. They don't know how to say anything straight down there, only polite machinations.”

“I suppose the King made his offer.”

“He did.”

“Have you considered your answer?”

“I'm even less inclined to accept,” Ned said, exhaling heavily. “And I won't allow the betrothal between Sansa and the Prince. That boy may be the next king and the son of a good friend, but he won't be anywhere near my daughter.”

“Very wise, my Lord. If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

Ned dismissed the man and stayed quiet for several moments until Catelyn came. “People are starting to wonder where you are,” she said.

“I needed a moment after that scene.”

“Has Maester Luwin reported back?”

“Aye. Seems the child is strong.”

Catelyn hid her displeased face. “As we are alone, has the King made the offer?” she asked and Ned nodded.

“He has also asked for Sansa’s hand.”

“Oh, my!” Catelyn was delighted.

“I won't allow it,” Ned stated and her face fell.

“But Ned, she would be queen!”

“After what we just witnessed how can you want that for your daughter?”

“Oh, but he would treat his lady wife differently. He is a Prince.”

Ned looked at her, shocked. “Honestly, Catelyn, I find myself amazed at some of the things you say. A man’s nature is not defined by the title he attaches to his name.” _Something I should have learned when Lyanna said it. If I had taken her side against the betrothal…_ he thought, then stopped himself. _It’s over_ , he added. _No use mulling over the past again._

“How can you not want your daughter to be queen?” Catelyn asked, flabbergasted.

“Because I want her to be safe and happy,” Ned answered bitterly. _I have learned my lesson on forcing girls into ill-suiting marriages._ “We should go down to the party,” he said standing up, uncomfortable with the conversation.

He remembered all too well what had happened the last time a Stark had gone south. He knew all too well what had happened to the last Stark who wanted to marry a prince. _Promise me, Ned_ , she had begged as Jon squirmed in his arms and she lay dying in a bed of blood, winter roses scattered all over her. He would not allow that to be the fate of his eldest daughter.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla placed a single winter rose on the statue’s extended hand, taking away the feather she knew wouldn’t be taken kindly. She was so distracted in her prayers she didn’t hear the footsteps.

“What are you doing here?” Ned asked, confused.

“Milord!” Ayla jumped to her feet, startled. “I was just… I was…”

But Ned blinked, clarity taking over his mind. “I knew you being a laundry maid for years wasn’t why you looked familiar. You’re the nurse, aren’t you? The nurse I brought from Dorne?”

Ayla hesitated, but knew there was no way to lie. “Please, milord, I mean the little lord no harm. I… I promised her. I only came back to care for the boy.”

“Came back?” Ned asked, confused. “What do you… you were dismissed,” he realised.

“You never knew,” Ayla came to her own realisation. “She never told you.”

Ned blushed. “Lady Stark was in charge of the household.”

“She planted a ring in my room, milord, and had me leave in the middle of the night or she’d make sure I’d be sentenced to death.”

“What did you actually do?” Ned asked with a frown.

“Got food for him, cared for him. I didn’t let her starve him. He was only three when she ran me away, I couldn’t just let her torture the boy. So I went up north, took a job helping a midwife in Bear Island. Five years later I supposed the Bay of Ice had erased enough of Dorne’s sun from my skin for me to come back. Got the job in the laundry and been caring for him from afar much as I could.”

“All for her?” Ned asked, pointing to his sister’s image.

“She cared for my girl when no one else would and then she trusted me to care for and feed her son when she couldn’t. Yes, milord, it was, it _is_ all for her. And for him.”

“Then the gods were right when they made me name you their housekeeper.”

“Honestly, milord, I’d’ve found my way to the Blessed Island one way or another.” She stated and Ned smiled. “She wouldn’t hold it against you, milord. She was too caring for that.”

“She’d yell at me all the same,” Ned said with a sad smile.

“Well, she was fierce enough, she was,” Ayla agreed and turned to leave. “If I can be so bold, milord. She’d talk about you a lot and to me it looks you lost your heart when you lost her. You started getting it back now. Don’t stop.”

Ayla quickly left, not giving Ned chance to reply before she was gone. He stayed there, staring at the statue, trying to get his troubled thoughts on order.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon was sitting stiffly on the armchair by the fire as Daenerys slept, though it was late morning already. He was still wearing his pants and tunic from the feast neither of them attended, and hadn’t slept a wink: nightmares of bloodied babies haunted him when he tried.

Catelyn came in, smirked as she looked at his distressed figured, and scoffed as she looked at Daenerys. “Of course she wouldn’t lose the child. Bastards have the will to be born to shame their parents. Yours would too.”

Jon felt his blood boil with anger. Rather than yell and create a scene, what he later supposed was what Catelyn had wanted, he told her to leave. She smiled with venom in her eyes.

“I have no desire to stay here and watch a lowborn bastard ruin the life of a princess,” Catelyn said darkly. Why must the boy and his little wife ruin everything? First the bastard got to marry a princess (and she still wasn’t convinced by what Ned had said about it being a punishment) and now the girl had enticed the Prince and ruined Sansa’s chance of being queen.

Fed up, Jon took his stepmother by the arm and pulled her out of the room, not forcibly enough to hurt her, but still enough to see the anger in her eyes growing. But she had timed her latest wickedness poorly, and this time Ned was coming to see Daenerys, and witnessed it as she said, “I curse the day your whore of a mother opened her legs to my husband. I prayed to the gods you would die as a child, but none of them listened. I prayed Daenerys would be spared the shame of marrying you, but they didn’t listen. I prayed she wouldn’t be saddled with the shame of bearing your children and even when I prayed the child wouldn’t thrive—”

“Catelyn!” Ned exclaimed, horrified. She went pale, caught. Just as they had started to mend their marriage. Jon could barely hold in his anger, his blood boiling in righteous fury. “I cannot believe my own ears,” Ned said, completely shocked.

“Nothing she hasn’t said before, _Father_ ,” Jon made sure to use the title, knowing it would incense her further. “I’m not a naïve little boy you can bully anymore, Lady Stark. Your words can’t hurt me, they haven’t for years. You say you prayed to your gods? Seems like they care for you so much they never listened. I, however, will never pray for your death. You’re the mother of my siblings, though they deserve better. And if it is the gods’ will that you should give me more siblings, I do wish they take, even if they’ll be too good for the mother they’ll have. Now get out of my chambers and don’t return. You’ll never be in the presence of my wife again. She doesn’t need to hear your poison.”

“You dare banish me from a room inside my own castle!”

“My father’s castle, and it’ll be my brother’s after that, never yours. And don’t worry, as soon as Lady Starling is fit to travel, we shall leave. I’ve had to put up with you calling me bastard and worse my whole life. I won’t have you anywhere near my child.” He turned to walk into the room, before turning back to the disheartened woman. “I know I represent my father’s broken vows, and I never hoped you’d like me for that reason. But then you hated me too much for it to be simply that. It wasn’t until I grew up a bit more, until Bran came that I understood. You love Robb, no one can dispute that. But you don’t make any effort to hide that Bran is your favourite. But he is the second son. He won’t inherit anything. He’ll always be the second son. You can’t hope for him to become an heir without hoping for the death of your first-born. All the while, me, a bastard from an unknown mother, I get a title, a castle, lands, and a princess for a wife. If that is the result of your prayers, I believe it speaks volumes of what your beloved gods think of your actions.”

Jon closed the door on Catelyn’s face, sighing. There was satisfaction in having gotten all that off his chest, and in front of his father as well, but then again, Catelyn’s words didn’t come without weight.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Go to my study.”

“Ned…”

“Catelyn,” he said lowly, “go to my study and wait for me there. I need to calm down or I swear to the gods I won’t be able to hold back striking you.”

She shivered and left quickly. Ned braced himself on the wall, breathing heavily. It was one thing for his wife to be petty and deny his bastard son fine clothes and even food whenever she judged he’d misbehaved, but this was going too far. To wish for the death of a child, to wish a babe wouldn’t…

He started to cry, sobs wracking his body. He didn’t even hear the door reopening until Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Father, I shouldn’t have—”

But Ned only turned and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m the one who is sorry!” he said between sobs. “I’m so sorry, son! I can never… I can never say it enough! I failed you! I failed you and I failed her!” Jon froze. Was he talking about…? “I promised her I’d take care of you, that I’d protect you, and I failed. All she wanted, all she begged me was for you to be safe, and I failed! You’re alive, but you… I’m so sorry!”

Jon felt his heart race. He _was_ talking about his mother. Something he’d always refused to do. But his father was too upset to be questioned. Besides, he’d just admitted that his mother had wanted him safe and protected. Whoever she was, she had cared, she had loved her baby son. Jon could live on this knowledge alone. “Father, I mean it, you don’t need to apologise. Her prayers never did her any good. She is just a cold, bitter woman.”

“She is,” Ned said, righting himself and seeming to be reinvigorated by something. “You’re not leaving.”

“Father…”

“You are _not_ leaving. Especially when Daenerys needs rest, and your home is in no state to house a delicate pregnancy and a babe. Winterfell is your home, it’s your blood- and birthright. I’ll deal with Catelyn.”

Ned cleared his tears as he headed to his study. “ _She’d forgive you_ ,” Benjen had said. “ _Whack you on the head and yell a bit, but she’d forgive you_.” “ _To_ _me it looks you lost your heart when you lost her,_ ” Ayla had just told him down in the crypts. “ _You started getting it back now. Don’t stop._ ”

Catelyn was inside the study, pacing. He took his seat at his desk, and kept his voice as even as he could. “You will quietly collect your things and leave for Riverrun in the morning. You won’t return to Winterfell until I say otherwise. If I decide to say otherwise.”

“But Ned…”

“This is my decision and my decision is final. I could overlook your pettiness, denying Jon clothes and food, even firewood, but this goes beyond. You confessed you prayed for his death as an infant. The boy I told you was my son whom I loved. And you prayed for his death, and prayed against his marriage, and once that took place, you prayed for his wife’s barrenness. And when even that failed you prayed for her to lose the child. A babe, Catelyn, an innocent babe. I took Daenerys in and allowed this marriage because she was a baby innocent of the crimes her family name carries. Now you tell me you condemn my grandchild for this reason. This… this I cannot forgive. You will leave for Riverrun and if your father dares raise arms, you had better tell him why I’m sending you back.”

“I love you, Ned. All I did, I did because I love you and our children.”

“No, Catelyn, all you did you did because you were too cruel against a child innocent of the mistakes of his parents.”

Cruel. Because that is what she was, what she had done. Cruelty, masqueraded as protecting their children. As _loving_ their children. “ _Yes, milord, it was, it is all for her. And for him._” Love was not selfish. Love was giving up your life for another. What Catelyn had done was not love.

“So you destroy our marriage because of _him_?” she asked, trembling.

“You destroyed our marriage the day you wished evil on my son.”

“Ned, I love you!”

“I thought I loved you. I thought that even if our marriage was arranged, I had learnt to love you. I was wrong. I loved an illusion. A woman who didn’t exist. The woman I loved would be incapable of wishing ill on a child. Of praying for a child’s death.”

Catelyn was holding back her tears. “Ned, please. I’ll… I’ll never speak to the boy or his wife again, I promise.”

“Leave for Riverrun in the morning, Catelyn, and you can tell people that you’re doing so because your father is calling you or whatever other reason. Defy me and I’ll drag you into the carriage and the whole North will know I’m setting you aside.”

She was shaking. “This… this is about her, isn’t it? His mother. You love her more than you love me.”

“I told you all I loved was the illusion I had of you,” Ned said, keeping his voice as even as he could.

“But you love her more, don’t you?”

Ned finally snapped. “I do. I love her more than I could ever love you. And until my dying breath I’ll care more about Jon’s mother than I will — than I _could_ care for you. No one will ever take her place in my heart.”

“Is she even alive?”

“Leave, Catelyn. Don’t try my patience or I’ll drag you out right now.”

She sobbed, succumbing to her tears, and ran out of the room. Ned sighed, exhausted. He hadn’t lied, but he knew he didn’t mean it the way Catelyn had understood. He could never love any woman more than he loved his sister, though purple eyes haunted his dreams still, and no one would ever take Lyanna’s place in his heart. The place of a beloved sister.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas!!! This chapter isn't exactly holiday fluff, but there was no way around it. However, go check 'A Winter Kiss', a little companion piece to this story that is about Jon and Dany's first kiss.


	10. 09 A Double Standard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling from the events of the night before, Jon takes his frustration out in the only way he can; Ned and Catelyn have a last confrontation and it unearths things from the past; Joffrey apologises in front of the Court, but the reaction was not as expected; Jon and Robert talk about what happened.

**Chapter 9**

**A Double Standard**

 

Sansa had come not long after Ned had stalked down the corridor and said she would sit with Daenerys if Jon wanted to rest. He accepted the offer, needing to get out of the stifling room, as Catelyn’s words and Ned’s slipped detail about his mother were overwhelming his troubled mind.

So he found his way to the training yard, picked up a sword lying around, and started taking his frustration out on a fencing dummy. For a long time, no one dared approach, actually giving him a wide berth, aware of his clear anger and Ghost’s protective stance. The gossip from the night before had certainly spread already.

“I wonder what that poor concoction of straw and wood ever did to earn such treatment,” a voice cut in through Jon’s anger.

He turned, surprised anyone had interrupted and even more that he’d dared come closer in spite of the direwolf. “You’re Tyrion Lannister,” he said with a frown. “The queen’s brother.”

“My greatest accomplishment,” Tyrion acknowledged sarcastically. “Yours is… well, you’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you? And Daenerys Targaryen’s husband.”

Jon clenched his jaw with renewed anger and turned away.

“Did I offend you?” Tyrion asked. “Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” Jon conceded.

“And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you a bastard,” Tyrion said, as if explaining mathematics to a small child. “Let me give you some advice, _bastard_. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour. Then it can never be used to hurt you.”

“What the hell do you know about being a bastard?”

“All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.” Tyrion stated matter-of-factly as Jon picked up the sword to resume his attack on the dummy. “If you want to be more than what people want to call you, put that sword to better use. Hacking against a training dummy will not make people know you as anything other than the angry little boy who is Ned Stark’s bastard and Daenerys Targaryen’s husband.”

“What if I want to put it to good use against your nephew?”

“I would say that few people other than my sister, Robert, and my father would judge you. Though their judgment is the one that counts. And while I don’t want my nephew killed, I don’t criticise you for your highly justified anger. I am sorry about the child.”

He finally left and Jon turned back to the dummy, attacking it with renewed ferocity. Joffrey was getting away with his atrocity because he was the King’s son. What would an apology matter? A great ceremony later that afternoon for the Prince to pretend in front of others, that’s what, a play for a captive audience. His shame wouldn’t heal Daenerys. The little Prince’s wounded ego would not save their child.

Not much later, heavy rain began to fall, cold and nearly frozen. If it continued getting colder, they’d have a last snowstorm to close the time of summer snows. The curtain of falling water successfully cleared the courtyard, but Jon didn’t move, pent-up energy and anger coursing through him. Not to mention concern over the child he didn’t know whether or not still grew inside his wife. He was soaked to the skin when he felt a hand hold his sword arm, making him drop the weapon as the woman wrapped a cloak around him.

“Is Daenerys…?” he asked, terror seizing him.

Ayla was very cross. “She is just fine and so is your babe,” she said, towing him away with surprising strength. “Though your sisters are trying to invent an excuse as to why you’re not there. And won't be so soon, since you need a proper soak in hot water and dry clothes.”

“I need to—”

“You need to shut up and do as I tell you to before you get yourself sick.”

“I thought I was the Lord and you were the servant.”

Ayla threw him a dirty look. “You can go back to being a Lord when you start behaving like one,” she snapped, pushing him into Daenerys’ unused bedchambers. A couple of maids were finishing filling the bathtub with hot water, filling the room with steam, and promptly vanished. “Take your outer clothes off and get in there, I’ll get you some tea.”

“I just need dry clothes,” Jon mumbled, blushing.

Ayla rolled her eyes. “Get into that tub, _milord_ , or I swear to the Mother that I’ll throw you in there myself!”

Jon saw that she was in no mood to be trifled with and complied quickly. The hot water felt heavenly against the chill in his bones and he lay back, closing his eyes to enjoy the heat. His weariness was taking over, so much so that he jumped up startled when Ayla rested a hand on his shoulder, handing him a mug.

“What is this?” Jon asked, feeling further soothed by the smell.

“Chamomile. It isn’t meant for cold, no, but I find it calming. You need warmth, not medicine. Plus, it’s better than yarrow tea.”

Being all too familiar with that one, Jon agreed wholeheartedly. Ayla sat by the tub and started washing his hair. Jon would’ve felt awkward and all around improper if it didn’t feel so nice, like a mother tending to a son she loved. The housekeeper started humming a tune and he frowned.

“Where did you learn that song? I thought you weren’t Northern.”

“Hum?” she asked, distractedly. “Oh, my Lady taught me. She used to sing it to the babe, before y— he was born.”

“Oh. Who was she?”

Ayla smiled. “The kindest soul I’ve ever met,” was all she offered. “You were very silly, you know,” she said kindly, changing the subject.

Jon sighed. “I guess I just needed to do something I’m good at, something I worked on and earned myself rather than was handed to me.”

“What brought this on?”

Jon’s face closed as he considered his next words, but then the story of Catelyn’s visit earlier stumbled out of his mouth before he could contain it. “Auch!” He yelled. Ayla had gotten so upset her hands curled, pulling on his hair.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, releasing the dark curls. “Catelyn Tully will burn in the deepest circles of the hells. Her beloved gods won't absolve her of her sins.”

“Why do you always call her that? Catelyn Tully,” Jon explained when Ayla looked confused. “You'll say Lady Stark in front of others, but otherwise you just call her Lady Catelyn or Catelyn Tully. Never Catelyn Stark.”

“House Stark doesn't deserve to be darkened by the likes of her,” Ayla said, standing up. “Water isn't hot anymore, milord. There's fresh clothes on the bed, I'll be with the Lady.”

With that she turned on her heels and left the room. Too tired to think on her behaviour, Jon reached for a towel and climbed out of the tub.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robb knocked on the door to Jon and Daenerys’ chambers, his head pounding with pain. He couldn't reconcile with what his mother had just told him. “Jon,” he called once the housekeeper had allowed him in and he’d been reassured of Daenerys’ wellbeing, “may I have a word?” Jon frowned but nodded. Robb could see he was reluctant to leave his wife, but he apparently saw his brother’s stormy expression.

“What is it?” Jon asked as soon as they were in Robb’s room.

“Why did you ask Father to send my mother back to Riverrun?”

“What?!” Jon exclaimed, truly shocked.

“She said you threw her out of your room and then Father had, at your urging, told her to pack up to leave.”

Jon was absolutely flabbergasted. “Of course I didn't! As if I could sway Father into a decision like this!” Robb blushed, but nodded as if conceding the point. “I did banish her from my room and I told her she'd never be in Daenerys’ presence again, nor speak to her, but I never said anything to Father about telling her to go. I swear.”

“I know,” Robb said with a sigh. “I know you couldn't convince Father, it's just… he's sending her away, Jon. What did she say to you to make him do that?”

“She…” Jon hesitated. He'd never told his brother about his mother's cruelty. “She was unkind to Daenerys and our child.”

But Robb didn't buy the lie this time. “Only to them? Don't play me for a fool, brother. I noticed that Father has been giving her a cold treatment for a few moons now, ever since the night he suddenly dismissed several servants and had you moved to the new room. Why? What did she do that day?”

“I’ll talk to Father,” Jon said, skirting the question. “Just because I won't allow her anywhere near Daenerys doesn’t mean she should be sent away. I told them I was leaving as soon as Dany was feeling better.”

Before Robb could react, Jon left the room, walking purposefully to Ned’s study. “Father, may I have a word?”

“Jon? What is it? Is Daenerys—?”

“She is well, Sansa and Arya are with her. Father, Robb just came to tell me. Is it true? Did you send Lady Stark to Riverrun?”

Ned sighed, relaxing on his chair, though anger overtook him. “Yes, I did.”

“Father, please, don’t do this. Not for me. I would never ask you to do this.”

“I know, son. I’m not doing this because of you, I'm doing this because of Catelyn’s actions. I could…” he exhaled. “To some extent, I can understand her petty treatment of you while you grew up. Though I could never forgive her for it, I believed we could reconcile. But this is going too far. What she confessed in that corridor… I can't even look at her. I can't trust her. And I certainly can't trust her raising my children.”

“Father, please, I… don’t take my siblings’ mother from them. You… you have no idea what is it like to grow up without a mother. Theirs is… she is _here_ , Father. Please. Rickon is only four!”

Ned smiled sadly. “I can't, son. I'm sorry if this brings you bad memories, but I can't have Catelyn here anymore.” Jon sighed, upset, but resigned. He was at the door when Ned called him back. “She would be proud of you, Jon,” the man said quietly.

“Will you ever tell me about her?” Jon asked just as quietly.

“One day, _son_ ,” Ned vowed to himself. “One day I promise I will.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned was very angry. After Jon had left, Sansa has burst into his study, crying and yelling, inconsolable that her mommy was being sent away, begging Ned to reconsider.

It was only when she said Catelyn was very distressed, even blaming Jon for her return to Riverrun — which of course Sansa knew was a misunderstanding, because she knew her brother and she doubted he’d be capable of that — that Ned finally understood the intent behind his wife’s pleas to their children. Catelyn wanted them to come and plead her case to Ned, and if it worked she’d remain in Winterfell. If it didn’t, at least she’d have soured the relationship between the siblings. Honestly, did she really think that would work?

He knocked on the door to Catelyn’s room, not actually waiting to be granted entrance. She jumped up, startled, letting go of a wooden box she carried. “Ned!” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t—”

“Stop putting our children against Jon, Catelyn.”

“I don’t…”

“Do not insult my intelligence, Catelyn! Sansa came crying to my study just now. I think it is very low how you are pitting sister against brother!”

“Half-brother!” Catelyn yelled back. “How can you not see, Ned? That boy will come back in a few years and take everything that belongs to our children!”

Ned laughed loudly. “You cannot be talking seriously.”

“He is a bastard! Power-hungry, no love for their family! That is his nature!”

Ned blinked, taking in the image of the woman before him. Who _was_ she? “Is this some tale they tell in the south to caution lords from fathering bastards?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“It is what history tell us. The Blackfyres…”

“Catelyn, the Blackfyres were one family quarrelling _because_ they were mistreated by their trueborn families.”

“It is the nature of a bastard. That boy is a bastard, therefore—”

“He is a person! My son! He is my _son_! Did you ever look at him and see a person rather than a monster your septa told you to fear? Catelyn, did you ever think that Jon will be Robb’s bannerman one day? That fostering a good, strong relationship between them, as true brothers, would shield Robb from a backstabbing? That a man might be kind and not turn against a brother he loved, but he wouldn’t think the same about a brother who scorned him all his life?”

Catelyn was visibly shocked. “I just… I mean… he will rise against Winterfell, Ned, it is just…”

“By the old gods, woman! You sound like one of those Essosi parrots! Jon will _never_ rise against Winterfell, not while House Stark holds it. Jon would never betray his siblings.”

“He wants to be Lord of Winterfell!”

“You dread that, Catelyn, it is different. Stop this nonsense at once.”

“But the gods teach us that the sinful nature of—”

“Enough of this!” Ned exclaimed. She staggered back, almost tripping on the box she’d let fall. He held her up, noticing the detail on the lid, the well-carved direwolf head. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, this… I… I had it made. Years ago.”

“No, you didn’t,” Ned said quietly, reaching for the box.

“Ned, this is private…” Catelyn tried to fight him and take the box back.

“It can't be,” he whispered. Though the wood was worn after over two decades, it was all still as he remembered. “I thought this had been seized with the rest of his things,” Ned said, looking at Benjen’s elegant calligraphy engraving the underside of the lid. _Lord Brandon of House Stark._ “I suppose he left this in Riverrun. Why did you never give it to me?”

“I had even forgotten about that,” Catelyn replied too quickly.

“No, you had not. You were going to take this with you and you lied when I asked. You have been living in Winterfell for fifteen years, it was enough time to—” he froze, seeing a small scroll among the contents of the box.

The seal had been broken, but it was blue wax with the drawing of a flower. No, of a rose. It was Lyanna’s personal seal, the one he’d found amongst her things in the Tower of Joy. He unrolled it quickly, his hands shaking.

 

_My dear brother,_

_I send this to ease your heart, so that you may kneel before the gods to take your wife assured that I am well. I know you and Father won't agree, and that Ned will judge me for my impulsiveness, but I have chosen to follow my heart. A raven is too short a message, but, please, know that I am well and I am safe, and Prince Rhaegar cares for me. We shall return once things are taken care of._

_With love, your sister,_

_Lyanna of House Stark_

 

Ned felt the bout of anxiousness, his old friend, threatening to swallow him whole again. He forced himself to take deep breaths until he could no longer hear his heart beating in his ears.

“Were you the one to break the seal?” he asked Catelyn brusquely.

“No,” she said, swallowing dry. “It was broken when I found it. Brandon was… he’d been arrested already when we went to collect his things. He read it. The Maester said he read it and demanded his horse be saddled. Once I read it I understood why he left Riverrun in such a rush on the day of our wedding.”

Ned clenched his hands into fists. “You should’ve shown this to me years ago, Catelyn.”

“Why should I?”

“He was my brother.”

“He was my betrothed! Who left me at the altar to go fight for a sister who decided to dishonour herself—”

“You do not get to talk about my sister!” he roared loudly, fury welling, making Catelyn take three steps back. “No one gets to say a word against my sister in front of me! How could you, Catelyn! You knew how much I blamed myself for what happened, how could you not tell me this?”

“Maybe I thought you deserved it!” she yelled back, trembling, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Maybe having you feel some measure of guilt was my way of punishing you! Because the gods know you never felt guilty for bringing that boy here! Not when you’re so proud of that bastard!”

Ned exploded, slapping her. Catelyn fell on the bed, clutching her burning cheek, her tears rushing down. “Not once,” Ned said lowly, “in seventeen years of marriage, not once have I raised a hand against you. Not when you defied me, not when you shunned me, not when I discovered the way you abused and mistreated my son. Not even when I heard your abhorrent confession to how you had prayed against his life, his marriage, and his children. But no more. Speak ill of my son or my sister again and I will show you how your beloved south treats misbehaving wives. I assure you, your gods are much more vicious than I.”

Catelyn couldn’t do anything other than cry, frozen in her place on the bed, as Ned rolled up the scroll, set it back on the box, and closed the lid.

“You leave at first light,” he stated gravely. “Do not test me. Our marriage is over, and now I can safely say there’s no hope of having it back. And Septa Mordane is going with you. If your gods and septons and septas teach that bastards are wicked creatures rather than people, they have no place in my home.”

Catelyn succumbed to her tears, sobs wracking her body as she fell to her side on the bed. Ned quickly made the way back to his study, barring the door behind himself before also succumbing to seventeen years worth of regret and resentment.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon was standing at the front of the Great Hall next to Robb and Theon, trying not to explode in anger as he watched Joffrey stand next to his mother on the dais. The King had summoned the Court, saying attendance was mandatory for all nobles in the Winterfell region, as well as their sons and heirs.

No one knew for certain what exactly had happened, but given Jon and Daenerys’ absence from last night’s feast, the late arrival of the King, the Prince, the Lannisters, Lord and Lady Stark, and Robb, as well as Jon’s behaviour in the courtyard, it was very clear the matter was related to House Starling. Daenerys absence now was not helping matters.

Finally, at least a half-hour after the appointed time, Robert entered the Hall with Ned. Everyone bowed and curtseyed until the King had sat on a large chair that was standing for a throne.

“Very well, let’s get this over with,” Robert said. “There was an unfortunate incident last night,” he announced to the curious Court, “involving Lady Starling. Lord Starling is here and will accept the sincere regret from Prince Joffrey.”

People looked from the Prince to Jon, who had set his face into a blank mask. “I apologise, Lord Starling,” Joffrey said, though his tone and his body betrayed he felt anything but. “I had an unfortunate error in judgement and overstepped. My sincerest apologies.”

“And?” Robert prompted, making the rising whispers quieten again. “Your foolishness had dire circumstances for House Starling, boy! Apologise better!”

Joffrey clenched his jaw, his eyes burning with anger and shame. “I apologise, Lord Starling, that my actions led Lady Starling to miscarry your weak child.”

The crowd gasped, whispers growing again. Jon kept his face expressionless even though inside his blood was burning up like the molten lava of the volcano his castle stood on. “If Prince Joffrey’s punishment is complete, Your Grace, may I please have your leave? Lady Starling’s fever hasn’t broken since last night,” he added, only to needle Joffrey.

Robert nodded, a bit shocked, and Jon rushed away from the room. The noblemen and women were outraged at what was said (and what went unsaid).

“Are we to understand, Your Grace,” Lord Glover said, “that Prince Joffrey assaulted Lady Starling, leading to a miscarriage, and his punishment was an _apology_?”

“An outrage it is!” said another Lord.

“The assault wasn’t concretised,” the King said. “And Lord Starling understood that…”

“That his wife’s honour was stained, his child and heir murdered, and all he got was an apology from the King he’s sworn fealty to!” Greatjon Umber exclaimed. “I happen to remember your own reaction when it was _your_ lady love who was assaulted, Your Grace! And yet your son commits the same crime you condemned Rhaegar Targaryen for and he gets off with a slap on the wrist?”

“If a woman had attempted something similar,” Lady Mormont added, “she’d be put to death, never mind an apology!”

The northern lords were incensed, complaining loudly, even when Ned tried to intervene. Robb hid his amusement, knowing he couldn’t show his mirth at the dishonour of the Royal Family. But even the southerners who had come with the King were affronted. A few, most likely Lannister sympathisers were very subdued, saying the Prince had committed a mistake but not much more. But others were nearly as angry as the northerners.

“And to violate the sanctuary of his host!” the Greatjon exclaimed. “There is no greater dishonour than to break with guest rights!”

Tyrion stood from his chair and stopped by his sister’s ear on his way out. “Do you still think we don’t need a strong northern alliance?” he asked. “Not even Ned Stark can rein them in, and their allegiance is completely to House Stark. What do you think are Joffrey chances once he sits on the Iron Throne and Robb Stark is Warden of the North? Because Ned Stark is loyal to Robert, but the same won't hold to Joffrey. And certainly his son won't be as loyal as the father.”

Cersei looked at the commotion bellow them and didn’t reply.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon was standing next to the King as he shot down ducks at the lake in the Wolfswood early the next morning, though he had no idea how Robert was awake and shooting so early. Well, _attempting_ to shoot down ducks. Robert’s aim was worse than Bran’s. But the latter was nine. The man was just lazy. Jon found that the ‘Demon of the Trident’ was a distant memory, because Robert Baratheon was just a disappointment.

“So there was no hope?” the man asked. Robert had started to regret his handling of the situation ever since the explosive reaction from the Lords and Ladies the day before. Of course, a part of him wanted to punish them somehow for their lack of respect towards their King, but then what the loud one had said had hit the target: “ _your son commits the same crime you condemned Rhaegar Targaryen for and he gets off with a slap on the wrist?_ ”

“The Maester says it’s too early to tell, Your Grace,” Jon replied politely, holding back the cringe as the crossbow shot a bolt about twenty yards off the mark. “Lady Starling is confined to her bedchambers for the next moon at least.”

“Blasted boy!” Robert exclaimed, shooting another bolt widely off mark. “His mother spoils him too much. Come on, say it, he is a right cunt.”

“It is not for me to judge how the Queen raises the Prince, Your Grace,” Jon said through clenched teeth and only because Daenerys, Robb, and Ayla had ‘practised’ with him for half the evening before. “Though I must say I'm offended at how my lady wife was treated, and in my lord father’s home. Begging your forgiveness.”

“I’d think you had no balls and no blood in your veins if you weren’t offended, boy,” Robert said, finally lowering the crossbow with a curse. “Blasted thing. My eyes aren’t the same anymore. How good is your aim, boy?”

“I usually prefer a bow, Your Grace, but I’d say I'm good enough.”

Robert laughed. “You truly are your father’s son, all closed up like a fucking clam. Tell you what — I know nothing I can offer you will bring the child back. Or, if the gods are kind, make it less dangerous for the girl. But this is all I can do, so the Crown, in recognition of the mistake Prince Joffrey made, will raise House Starling to a major House. You’ll answer to the Warden of the North directly, not to some other vassal house.”

“You honour me, my King,” Jon said, going to his knees. “But I'm afraid I must refuse you. My lord father worked hard to make the deal so as to not offend House Manderly.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Robert said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll tell my Hand to tell Lord Manderly this is by the order of the King.” Then he laughed. “Well, your father will just have to redo his deal!”

“I wouldn’t wish to offend my lord father by…”

“Enough of that, I’ll talk to Ned, I’ve decided. Now, take out your bow, boy. You get me three ducks and I’ll send a thousand men to your army.”

Jon bit back a smile. “Are you sure, Your Grace?”

“Come on, boy! Show me what your father teaches you in the training grounds!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you all for the love and support. I read each and everyone of your comments and they all warm my heart.
> 
> But before I get rained down with hate: No, I do not think Ned was right to hit Catelyn. Yes, today it would’ve been domestic assault. However, this is set in a medieval patriarchal feudal society, so that’s why it happened.  
> Also, just to clarify: divorce and/or separation does not exist in Westeros. There is annulment, but it’s very specific and no marriage that has produced issue can be annulled on any grounds whatsoever.  
> Anyway, point being: no, Ned and Catelyn do not get legally separated or divorced. They simply live apart. Catelyn is still Ned’s wife and Lady Stark, she was just sent elsewhere by her husband. So if Ned wishes to marry again, he can't, and neither can Catelyn, not until one of them dies. Though there’s the whole thing that their marriage was celebrated in the sept of Riverrun, and in the North marriages in a sept can be not recognised. Though Ned wouldn’t do that, because it would result in making his children illegitimate and that is another whole mess to deal with.


	11. 10 To Bear a Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb hears an uncomfortable truth while Sansa is almost ensnared in a trap. Dany and Jon have a moment away from the madness and Ned is forced to play the game of politics.

**Chapter 10**

**To Bear a Song**

 

Not wanting to make a spectacle of the proceedings, especially given the agitated moods from the northern lords, Ned had Catelyn say goodbye to their children in his study. He refused to even greet her, but when she tried to tell Bran she was leaving because ‘of the boy’, Ned cleared his throat to make clear he was listening. Once it was over, Old Nan and Ayla led the children out of the room, so that only Robb remained.

“Father, is there truly nothing we can say that will change your mind?”

Ned looked at his son. He thought carefully about how to voice his thoughts, but eventually gave up. His mind was too much of a mess to try and make sense of it. “I suppose you are old enough. And if you are my heir, you must understand the weight of these decisions. If your mother explains, very clearly and not omitting any detail, why precisely I am sending her away, and you still think I should allow her to stay I promise you, on my honour, I shall consider your request, Robb.”

He didn’t look at his wife, turning away to the fireplace again. He couldn't bear to look at her. Her pettiness had cost a lot. If she had given someone the letter… he halted that thought for the hundredth time since the day before. It was useless to keep on it — they were all long dead and buried.

From the corner of his eye, he saw as Robb turned expectantly to his mother. Very hesitantly, Catelyn started to tell the tale from the day Ned had questioned her actions running the household to the night before. Every time she attempted to gloss over a detail, Ned merely drummed his fingers on the desk and she corrected herself. When she was done, she was crying again, begging Robb’s forgiveness with her eyes, but he was not moved.

“You were too kind to stay the punishment the first time for my sake and for my siblings, Father,” Robb said, his voice filled with hurt. “How could you, Mother?”

“I was only trying to protect you, Robb! Protect what’s yours!”

“Protect me? From whom? From Jon? Are you mad? Jon would die before he betrayed me! Because he is a good person. He’s not resentful. If he were, you would have created the monster you so fear. Now goodbye, Mother.”

Catelyn sobbed, her last hope walking out the door. “Will you… will you tell your siblings?”

“This is not for the girls’ ears. Especially Arya’s, as she idolises Jon. And Bran and Rickon are too young.”

“Will you write?” Catelyn tried, one last connexion she wished to keep.

Robb stopped at the door, but didn’t even turn to face her. “No. Not for a while, at least. I won't stop the others, but don’t expect any letters from me.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sansa was blindly following her siblings, Old Nan, and Ayla down the corridor, very upset with her mother’s departure. She didn't notice the Prince’s presence until Joffrey was right before her.

“What has such a beautiful maiden so saddened?”

“Oh,” Sansa exclaimed, startled. “It's nothing to concern yourself with, Your Grace.”

“Oh, I doubt that. My Royal father intends to have us marry,” Joffrey said and Sansa swooned. “Whatever troubles you, my Lady, is—”

“Step away from my sister!” Robb exclaimed, coming down the corridor.

“Robb! What are you doing?” Sansa chastised.

“Come along now, milady,” Ayla said, trying to pull Sansa away.

“You heard Ayla, Sansa, go,” Robb said with a cold voice. He wanted to punch something after all he’d just heard in his father’s study, and Joffrey was presenting a very good target.

“The Prince was only being kind!” Sansa insisted.

“I’ll bet,” Robb said. “Let’s just hope he wasn’t being as kind as he was to Daenerys last night.”

Sansa frowned, confused, but Ayla let go of Rickon and put both hands around her shoulders. “Come on _now_ , milady. We have many things to do.” Sansa let herself be pulled away.

“You cannot speak like that to me!” Joffrey exclaimed. “I'm the Prince!”

“You are,” Robb agreed, “which is why my fist is not getting acquainted with your face. Now stay away from my sister.”

“Very hard to do when she is my betrothed.”

Robb laughed. “Oh, is she? I think you are mistaken. My lord father did not accept it.”

“My father, the King, ordered our betrothal. Lord Stark,” Joffrey said derisively, “doesn’t have a say in the matter.”

“You should go tell your mommy to teach you manners, boy,” Robb said lowly, losing his patience. “The day my father cannot decide who gets to marry his daughter is the day the Seven Kingdoms are lost.”

“My father is the King!”

“And if you want to wear a crown after him I suggest you learn some manners.”

Robb walked away then, his fists clenching already. Blasted be the day Robert fucking Baratheon decided to travel north.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys gasped, turning around to face Jon. “One thousand men?” she asked.

He’d just returned from his hunt with the King and had piled pillows and furs in front of their hearth. The armchair was not big enough to fit both of them, but Jon liked to use it to rest against as they cuddled together in front of the fire. Dany loved how he always made a point to sit together after supper and talk about their day. Though it wasn’t even noon yet, Dany was sick of their bed and Jon felt like it was time to update her on everything that was happening in Winterfell since the night of the feast.

“Yes,” he admitted with a sigh. “I don’t know whether he did it knowing I’d get the three ducks or if he actually thought I wouldn’t. Though judging by how much he was laughing when the squire brought back the fifth duck I suppose he meant to give us the men anyway.”

Dany frowned. “This doesn’t make sense. Cersei basically told me I was a threat to the throne and I'm quite sure Joffrey’s attack is connected to her, but Robert Baratheon sends a thousand men to arm a minor House?”

“A _major_ House,” Jon said, making Dany’s eyes bulge. “Robb said the northerners were very vocal about Joffrey’s punishment being pathetic…”

“Well, it was rather.”

“Aye. So Robert Baratheon thought to make it up to us how he could, I think. He raised us to a _major_ House and gave us a thousand men.”

Dany smiled softly. To Jon it was always ‘us’ and ‘our House’, never ‘me’ and ‘my House’. She was never a trophy wife, she was his partner. And she knew it wasn’t a sense of duty or whatever other nonsense because he knew he was only getting a House and lands because he was married to her, he really thought of her as a true partner. It only made her love him all the more. She sighed, resuming her position curled up in his chest.

“I think that will make Cersei squirm,” she said.

“She can squirm all she likes,” Jon said furiously, “but she can't go against the King.”

Dany sighed, debating whether or not to say the next bit. But they were always honest with each other. “She told me her father had allowed me to live once for political reasons. You think… that must mean when Stannis Baratheon took me to Court and Robert decreed our betrothal. Tywin Lannister was already unpopular and viewed as cruel for what he ordered done to my good-sister, niece, and nephew. Perhaps allowing me to live, not sending a man to murder me as your father brought me North worked in their interest back then.”

Jon squeezed his arms tighter around her. “I hate politics,” he said between clenched teeth.

“We can't escape it, Jon. You _know_ that.”

“I do,” he said with a sigh. “I hate it, though. I like how it was before, just us, being a family, planning our future in our lands. None of this southern nonsense of power grabbing.”

“Well, then,” Dany said, turning to stare at him again, her hand going up to play with his wild curls, “it's a lucky thing we’ll live in the North. Our own island to have and to hold.”

“Once they are gone, we'll need a purging,” Jon said, chuckling.

“A very thorough one!” Dany agreed, laughing.

They held onto each other then, the crackling of the fire the only thing breaking the silence, comforted and soothed by each other's presence.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned wanted to sigh, but held it back. Robert was the King, regardless of anything else, and they hadn’t seen each other in almost a decade. Even if the Robert Ned remembered from their time fostering in the Eyrie was gone, replaced by a greedy, tired, and disillusioned man, there was still something there.

“My place is in the North, Robert. The capital would suit me ill.”

“Your son can keep the North in hand, Ned. I need you in the capital. I need someone I trust in the Small Council.” Robert exhaled. “There were whispers from across the Narrow Sea. Varys’ little birds brought him a song.” Ned stilled. Only one person could cause whispers from Essos to worry Robert. “Viserys Targaryen is raising an army. Promised a Dothraki horse lord that if he comes and puts him in the Iron Throne, he can have his sister as a bride.”

“Daenerys is already married. And I hope you’re not suggesting there’s been communication.”

But Robert waved his concern away. “No, no, of course not. I trust you, Ned. Now that Jon Arryn is gone you’re the only one left that I trust. But it is no secret that the girl is alive and here. The fool is obviously promising her off to secure himself those fucking hundred thousand Dothraki.”

“A hundred thousand?”

“And their horses. They only know how to fight on the back of the damned animals. I need you there in King's Landing with me.”

“Robert,” Ned sighed, “the Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea. Why would they now? On the promise for a girl they’ve never seen?”

“A Targaryen girl.”

“They’re savages, Robert. What does the Targaryen name matter to them?”

“There are still those on the Seven Kingdoms that think of me as a usurper. Rallying in secret to see if they can support the girl.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re suggesting…” Ned trailed off, his panic surging again. He couldn’t have Daenerys hurt when she was a baby that meant nothing to him other than being the sister of Lyanna’s husband. He wouldn’t have it now that he had raised her and seen her married to his son, carrying his grandchild.

“Nah, don’t worry. She’s quite tamed, I have you to thank for that. And your son keeps her leashed from what I saw. No, let them be. Is their keep ready yet?”

“Almost. But I'm keeping them here until the maester says Daenerys can travel.”

“Quite the miracle, if you ask me. That was a big kick.”

“Robb stepped in on time,” Ned said, trying to diminish Daenerys’ strength.

“I don’t know what to do about that boy,” Robert confessed. “His mother made him rotten to the core. Oh, I wish Cersei was half the woman Catelyn is.” Ned couldn’t hold back a snort. “I saw her getting into a carriage as we came back from the woods. Where is she going?”

“Riverrun. She’ll… she’ll be there for a while.”

 “You’re…” Robert was shocked. “You’re setting her aside?”

“I'm sending her to visit her father.”

“While the Royal Family and half the Court are your guests? Ned, you’re sending her away! What did she do?”

“Overruled and undermined me. Even when I caught her and told her to behave.”

Robert frowned. He knew his friend too well. Ned would never set his wife aside without great consideration and a superb reason. Especially with guests in his home. “What will you do?”

“Hire a nanny for the children.”

“What about the Septa?”

“We follow the Old Gods in the North, Robert. And I’ll need someone to take on the duties of the Lady of the keep. I’ll hire someone. Perhaps a Northern House has a spare daughter who would like the position.”

“You could always…”

“Don’t bother finishing your suggestion.”

Robert laughed heartily. “Oh, Ned! Come on! We’re men, my friend! You can't hope to live alone for the rest of your life!”

“I'm not having this conversation with you.”

“You already have a bastard.”

Ned sighed. “Yes. And I won't have another.”

“So, will you come to King's Landing?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You think too bloody much, Ned!”

“Of one thing I am certain, though,” the Lord said seriously. “You honour me, my House, and the whole of the North by asking for my daughter’s hand. There is no greater pride for a father than to see his daughter marry well and become a queen, mother of kings. And it pains me to say this, but I must refuse.”

“I know,” Robert sighed. “Can't say I blame you. It was quite the deplorable scene. But come on, Ned, the children are still young. They’re what, twelve? Come with me to King's Landing. Let’s counsel the boy, teach him to be a man.”

There was a knock on the door announcing Maester Luwin and Ned allowed entrance. “Oh, I'm so sorry,” the man said, “I shall return later.”

“No need!” Robert called, standing up. “I feel like hunting tomorrow. I’ll go gather the boys and then find myself some company.”

Ned rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. Was his friend interested in nothing but killing and debauchery? Maester Luwin waited until the door was closed before coming up to the desk. “A rider in the night, milord. It’s for Lady Stark, but I thought I’d give it to you so you could decide whether or not to send it to her. It’s from Lady Arryn.”

“I have no interest in the correspondence of sisters, Maester Luwin.”

“I know, my Lord. However, it has been well over a year since Lady Stark last sent Lady Arryn a letter, longer yet that one arrived from her, even with Lord Arryn’s recent passing. And this one was sent from the Eyrie, not from King's Landing. I find the timing odd, to say the least.”

Ned frowned. “Well, if she’s widowed, she would have been asked to vacate the Tower of the Hand. But to travel this fast… and why a rider in the night, not a simple courier?”

“That’s why I brought you this letter. And also, there was another letter that arrived. It slipped past me, but Ayla caught it among Lord and Lady Starling’s wedding gifts,” he handed a second message.

“Why did she give it to you? I told her to report directly to me.”

“She’s a servant, my Lord. Lowborn. She cannot read. She saw the letter and found it odd that someone would send a simple message rather than a gift, and that it would be placed among the other gifts rather than delivered to Lady Starling directly. She said she didn’t want to bother you if it was really only a wedding good-wish, so I took the liberty of reading it. The real message was folded inside a mummer, which is why it was delivered among the gifts. The sender supposed Lady Starling would catch it before anyone else.”

Ned frowned, concerned with the subterfuge. He could guess who would have sent it, Robert’s information fresh in his mind. Sighing, he opened it first. He disregarded the outer mummer message, which, as Maester Luwin said, contained nothing but prattling.

 

_My dear, sweet sister,_

_I have found a trustworthy man to deliver this, which is why I send this message. We have been torn apart, sweet sister, forced to grow up estranged due to the cruelty of a usurper and his followers. But our House perseveres._

_I have been forced into exile in Essos — I shall not say where, for safety — and I know you have been forced into a shameful marriage by the usurper and his Stark dog, but you don’t have to worry. I plot with allies a way to get you to come to safety, where the false king and his whisperers cannot get to you. I will keep you safe, sister. Besides, a pretender sitting on my throne has no authority to dictate whom you should marry. I am your older brother, I am the head of House Targaryen, and as such this is my role and responsibility, and I have fulfilled it to find you a true betrothed who will bring us an advantageous alliance and not some plot to undermine us._

_So make your way to Essos, sweet sister, and our allies will intercept you and bring you to me. Until then, I pray that you will remain strong and safe from those who sought to destroy us._

_And if your marriage should be forced upon you, find a way to delay it until you can leave that dreary place. Once you’re away, your purity will be safe from the greedy bastard who dares hope he will marry the sister of the King._

_Good travels,_

_Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm_

 

Ned sighed deeply. For fifteen years he’d made sure there was no communication. He’d feared, dreaded even, that something like this could happen. But it never did. And as Daenerys grew up, friendly and raised with values, as she and Jon became friends and fell in love, the worry had left his mind. He should have known the peacefulness they were living in had been built in a marshland. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter from Lysa Arryn.

And then he really wanted to curse loudly. “She claims the Lannisters conspired to murder Jon Arryn. That she can't prove it, but Jon had spoken to her about a conspiracy against the King, and he died in suspicious circumstances not three days later. She’s fled the capital with the boy.” He closed his eyes, taking a moment to think. “She’s fresh widowed. Doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“Perhaps,” Maester Luwin said, “but Lady Arryn’s head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter. Would she really risk her life and her son’s, if she wasn’t certain her husband was murdered?”

“I don’t believe so, no,” Ned agreed.

“If this news is true,” Maester Luwin continued, “and the Lannisters conspire against the throne, who but you can protect the King? And add that the news of Viserys Targaryen making a move, my Lord, and I believe the King is in grave danger. He rode for a hundred days to ask for your help. You’re the only one he trusts. You swore the King an oath.”

“I know,” Ned said, feeling a heavy weight settling on his chest.

“What will you do, my Lord?”

“Speak with Robert,” he said, and then sighed. “And I suppose I must enter the tiresome game of politics. Make sure this letter finds its way to Lady Starling, but no one must know. I dislike it, but I must see what will be her reaction. Specially with the Prince’s attack so recent.”

The maester bowed his head, collected the envelope, and left the room. Ned stood up, fed Lysa’s letter to the fire, and then was left chewing on his choice — or lack thereof — and all the decisions he would have to make before the journey south.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next day dawned grey and cold, as the weather demanded. Jon was doubly as crossed to be awoken that early. First, because he’d slept in Daenerys’ bedchambers, since he refused to share a bed and potentially bump into her in his sleep. The coldness of the previously unused bed was cruel on him. And second, he did not feel like going out to hunt with the King and his entourage when his wife was still bedridden, the fate of their child unknown. Robb was similarly bad humoured when they met in the courtyard, though for a different reason.

“I almost broke his face in half,” Robb confessed quietly as they saddled their horses. “The gall of him, treating our sister like a trophy to be won.”

“I suppose everything is a game to him. And he’s always entitled to win, the prick.”

Robb snorted. “I don’t care if he’s a prince, next time he tries anything I will break his face right in the middle.”

“And lose your hand?”

“Yours are very well attached.”

“Aye, because he actually tried something his father wouldn’t forgive,” Jon said. “I don’t like it, but as long as he is only talking to Sansa, there’s nothing we can do.”

Robb seethed for a few moments. “Father made Mother confess why he was sending her away,” he finally said, visibly uncomfortable.

“Oh,” Jon said, fumbling with the stirrup fastenings. “Robb, really…”

“Why did you never tell me? What she did?”

Jon took a deep breath. “She’s your mother. And I deser—”

“Say you deserved it and I will break _your_ face in half. She was _wrong_ , Jon. You are my brother, I don’t care who your mother is.”

Jon smiled, touched. Then Ned and Robert came into the courtyard as well, going to their horses nearby.

“Are you as good with a spear as you used to be?” Robert asked.

“No,” Ned admitted, “but I’m still better than you.”

Robert laughed as he mounted his horse. Then he went serious and turned to his friend. “I know what I’m putting you through. Thank you for saying yes. I only ask you because I need you. You’re a loyal friend. You hear me? A loyal friend. The last one I’ve got.”

“I hope I’ll serve you well,” Ned said, not completely convinced.

“You will,” Robert said and then all seriousness left him. “And I’ll make sure you don’t look so fucking grim all the time. Come on, boys, let’s go kill some boar! Come now, Starling, you take down a beast by yourself and I’ll give you another hundred men!”

The King led the party out the gates. Jon held back an eye roll, especially when Robb turned to him with a curious face.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s been a small retcon: on chapter 7, The Storm, just as the Royal family arrives, Dany says she and Jon had been married for two moons. I had written that taking into account Cersei’s line in episode 1 that they’d been riding for a month. However, in doing some research on distances and travel time, that proved to be impossible. So, in truth, it takes the Baratheon/Lannister contingent 100 days to get to Winterfell (Cersei was riding a wheelhouse drawn by 40 horses, they moved slow), so Jon and Dany have been married for almost four moons. This changes nothing so far in the story (other than the first line of chapter 7) only that instead of conceiving right after the wedding, Jonerys took about two months of trying, which is completely believable given that Dany has just flowered and is therefore irregular.


	12. 11 Winter Fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is upset with the changes around her while Dany receives a letter. As Ned organises the household, Robert decides a stop along the way back to the capital is called for. As a feast takes place, sad news are brought to the high table.

**Chapter 11**

**Winter Fell**

 

After the departure of Septa Mordane, who left with Lady Stark, there was no one to teach the womanly arts to the girls. Ayla had started sharing the duty with Jory Cassel’s wife, and that day had been tasked to give sewing lessons. To her surprise, Sansa, who was usually the first one to arrive and the last to leave, was absent. After the lesson was done and all the girls dismissed to their other daily activities, the housekeeper went up to the little lady’s chambers. Sansa was very upset because she was so confused about what was happening.

“Come now, child, let’s wipe these tears.”

“Why was Robb so rude to the Prince?”

“Your brother was only worried about you.”

“But he said…” the girl sat on her dressing table facing the housekeeper. “What did he mean, when he said Joffrey was kind to Dany?”

“Oh, sweet child,” Ayla sighed. “Something happened the night of the feast, but I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.” Sansa started to cry, so the woman went to kneel beside her. “Oh, hush now, child. Why are you so upset?”

“Everything is falling apart! I’m told the King wishes for me to marry the Prince, but then Father won't allow it. Then my lady mother and the septa are leaving. Why? Why is my lord father sending them away?”

“Oh, my sweet child. Do you trust your lord father?” Ayla asked and Sansa nodded. “Then you know he is doing what he feels is right.”

“Mother… Mother told me she was being sent away because of Jon. And it was… Septa Mordane always said bastards are evil and greedy. But they are wrong, because Jon is good and kind! I… I can imagine he doesn't like Mother much, but he wouldn't ask Father to send her away. Is that… is that why Father is sending them away? Whatever happened with Dany, was my lady mother unkind to Jon because of his birth?”

Ayla smiled. “You, child, are much smarter than people would think.”

“So I am right?”

“Just about. Your lady mother was unkind, but that is not why she is leaving. Nor did she have anything to do with Lady Starling being hurt. You should speak with your lord father about that.”

“Because it is not your place to tell me?”

“No, it is not.”

“And Septa Mordane? Is it because she told us Jon was evil?”

“Let me put it this way: she was telling you what she was told. What generations and generations of people of her faith told her was right.”

“But why does the Faith think bastards are greedy and evil?”

“I dare say it’s an attempt to shame the lords into not having them. But let me tell you: there are many more bastards south of the Neck than north.”

“But Septa Mordane _knows_ Jon. Why would she not question it?”

“Because it’s much more comfortable to _not_ question it. She was taught bastards were evil so in her mind they are. There are no exceptions to a steadfast truth.”

“So Father is sending her away because of this?”

“If you were your lord father and you had a son like Lord Starling, would you allow anyone to call him evil and greedy, to teach he is that to your other children?”

“No.”

“Well, then, so there we have it.”

Sansa nodded, biting her lower lip. A few moments went by before she grew curious again.

“But what happened between Prince Joffrey and Dany?”

“I have told you—”

“It’s not your place to tell me,” Sansa finished, annoyed, gathering her skirts and standing up. “Very well, then.”

She walked out of the room quickly, leaving Ayla shocked for a moment before she followed. The girl went straight to Jon and Dany’s chambers, finding them talking. Dany was lying on the bed, still in her nightclothes, but Jon was fully dressed, though shoeless, and sitting cross-legged next to his wife, on top of the furs.

“Get out Jon, I want to speak with Dany,” Sansa said imperiously.

Jon chuckled. “Am I being kicked out of my own bedchambers?”

Sansa threw him an annoyed look. “If I call Arya you really will be kicked.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, climbing out of the bed and pulling on his boots. “Come on, Ghost, let’s find ourselves some food in the kitchens. The girls want to talk.”

The direwolf pup lifted his head when his name was called and followed Jon out enthusiastically. Sansa waited until the door was closed to come nearer, sitting by Dany at the end of the bed.

“What is it?” the blonde asked. “You seem troubled.”

Ayla walked in, closing the door quietly behind her and approaching the bed as well.

“You said you almost lost the baby,” Sansa started hesitantly.

“But I haven’t, Sansa. I am fine and so is the child.”

Sansa smiled. “Good. But… but why? What happened that you almost did?”

“Lord Robb caught the Prince talking to her the other day, milady,” Ayla explained. “When Lady Sansa said the Prince was only being kind, Lord Robb said he only wished he wasn’t being as kind to her as he was to you.”

“I see,” Dany said. “Well, the Prince has made a public retraction, so I doubt you will be kept from it for much longer. Sansa, he… on the night of the feast, he tried to… to force himself on me.”

“Remember how we talked about the wedding night, milady?” Ayla asked when Sansa still seemed confused. “The Prince tried to force Lady Starling into that.”

“But Jon is your husband,” Sansa said, confusion etching a huge frown on her face.

“Which is why I told the Prince no,” Dany said. “But he still tried. He… he kicked me, my abdomen. That’s why I almost miscarried.”

Sansa’s frown deepened. “But… but why would he do that?” she asked.

“Because men want what they want, milady,” Ayla said.

“But he’s a prince! Why… he is kind and noble and strong.”

“Oh, child,” Ayla smiled indulgently, reaching out to smooth Sansa’s hair, “men are men, regardless of the titles they call themselves.”

Sansa looked like her world was falling apart. She finally looked to Dany. “The songs… they are not all true, are they?”

“No, Sansa,” Dany replied, understanding. “Songs are not always true. My father was a king, remember? He was not kind, noble, nor strong. He was weak, cowardly, and cruel. Kings and princes are people first, and people are not songs.”

Sansa nodded, her lips trembling, showing she was about to dissolve in sobs. She suddenly stood up and ran out of the room. Dany knew she was going to shut herself in her room and cry for a long while.

“It’ll do her good, milady,” Ayla said. “We all need to grow up at one point.”

Daenerys sighed, falling back on the bed. Sansa was just a child, really. Perhaps if she weren’t so naïve, she wouldn’t have needed to have such a shock.

“Well, at least she won't fall prey to the Prince’s advances,” Dany said.

“Oh, I hope not, milady,” Ayla said hauntingly. “Otherwise not only will the little lady suffer, but I think both Lord Starling and Lord Robb will lose a hand. After they make sure the Prince will have no heirs.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys stayed in bed for five days, and Jon would’ve kept her there for a whole moon if she hadn’t put her foot down and insisted she was fine. Grudgingly accepting Ayla and Maester Luwin’s diagnostic that the worst was over and that the child was safe as long as Daenerys took good care of herself, Jon agreed to stop pestering her to stay lying down.

“I supposed I’ll have a long list of thank you notes to write,” she said that afternoon as she sat on a table in the room filled with the wedding gifts. Ayla and Doreah were moving around, checking packages and gathering letters.

“That’s a task I do not envy,” the handmaiden said, pulling on the collar of her dress. Doreah was very much disliking the covered-up style of northern dress, used as she was to the thin silks of Essos, regardless of the protection it offered against the cold.

Daenerys chuckled as she opened an unmarked envelope. “Perhaps I will teach you, the both of you. Then you can help me along.”

“Oh, I’d enjoy that,” Ayla said as Doreah grimaced. “Maester Luwin and Septon Chayle won't stop saying how amazing some of the books are. I'm curious.”

Daenerys chuckled again as she read the letter. It was filled with prattle and social niceties. Nothing worth reading, in the end, but it was— she found a second piece of parchment folded within, and gasped as she read it.

“Where is Jon?” she asked, shaken, as she finished.

“They caught wildlings just a few miles north, milady,” Ayla said, worried about her reaction. “The men went to see to it.”

“Lord Stark?”

“Heading the group, of course.”

Dany stood up, pacing, gathering her thoughts. “And the King?”

“In his study,” Ayla said as she turned to her mistress, very confused. “I saw a squire take him some tea as I came.”

“Good.” Was all Daenerys said as she crossed the room and left, traversing the corridors quickly to the room she knew was serving as the King’s study. “I'm so very sorry to disturb you, Your Grace,” she said after she was granted entrance, her weak and subdued mask falling into place, aided by the paleness the letter had caused.

“I must say I'm surprised,” Robert said, and his face showed his shock. “I never thought you’d ask me for an audience.”

“I’m… I just… I didn’t know what to do, Your Grace. And I thought I should give this to you. I just… please, Your Grace, understand I have no idea how it got here or why he would send it. And my lord husband has no idea either.”

“Hiding things from your husband now, are you?” Daenerys shivered. The way Robert had intoned it, it seemed like he meant ‘master’, not ‘husband’.

“I just received it, my King. I… I don’t know what exactly it means, but I know it’s a threat. I want no part in it. That’s why I'm giving it to you. Before anyone can say I received it and kept it to conspire against you.”

Robert frowned, taking the letter and quickly reading it over. His face went red as a ripe apple. “When did you get this, girl?”

“Just now, Your Grace. Lord Stark and my lord husband left to take care of the wildlings so I thought to bring it to you. You are the one he threatened in the end.”

“And this is the first?”

“The first that has ever reached my hands, Your Grace. Though I doubt Lord Stark would have kept any others a secret from you, my King. Not when he speaks so highly of your friendship and his loyalty to you.”

“Well, that I can believe,” Robert said, punching the desk. “You did the right thing, girl. I will not forget it.”

The herald knocked and announced Ned and Jon, whom the King immediately admitted. Daenerys forced a scared face.

“I'm so sorry, my King,” Jon said, looking angry though she could see the concern in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“She did a right deed to her King, boy, don't you worry,” Robert said.

“Regardless, she shouldn't have come to you without talking to me. Go to your chambers. Now.” Jon said and Daenerys curtseyed to the King and left in a whirl of woollen skirts. “Again, Your Grace, I apologise.”

“Not for this,” Robert said, still red-faced. “It is good that she came. Sit down you two, we must talk.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys walked into her room shaking like a leaf. Her brother, her last surviving relative by blood, had finally reached out and in the worst way possible. She had no love lost for Robert Baratheon and would not mourn for one moment if he were dethroned. She’d actually rejoice. And if her brother, if her family retook their place, she would only celebrate. But… Was he really interested in protecting his sister? “ _This is my role and responsibility, and I have fulfilled it to find you a true betrothed, who will bring us an advantageous alliance, and not some plot to undermine us._ ”

How could he procure a betrothal for a sister he had never even set eyes on? Rhaella had still been in labour as Stannis Baratheon’s fleet approached from the Blackwater Bay and the maesters couldn’t say how long it would take for the birth. Then the loyalists, thinking the Queen and the unborn child doomed, smuggled Viserys from Dragonstone in the middle of the night.

The terrible truth dawned: Viserys was not interested in a sister. He wanted a bargaining chip. Most likely this ‘betrothal’ he’d fashioned would secure him an army to invade Westeros and reclaim the throne. She would never have left the safety of Winterfell for that. She would never have left _Jon_. She remembered her dream, the empty and cold throne room in the Red Keep, the banners hanging over the Iron Throne.

 _What is your choice?_ the dream had asked. Daenerys knew that it wasn’t one that involved her leaving Jon and crossing the Narrow Sea. To be sold off as a broodmare by a brother she didn’t know and, at the moment, didn’t particularly care for.

Jon opened the door, still looking furious. He didn’t close it all the way, so she knew they were still pretending. “What were you thinking?” he asked sternly, though she could see the irritation on his face. “To go bother the King!”

“I had to give him the letter,” she said and the tremble in her voice was genuine. “He…”

“You should have waited until I came back.”

“I couldn't hold on to it. He threatened the King. I had to give him the letter.”

“You were right in this instance. I would have given it to the King myself if you had waited, but next time you will wait for me.”

“I just thought to help…”

“A woman has no place in politics,” Jon said and grimaced at the bitter taste it left in his mouth. “Next time something like this happens you will wait and give it to me so I will take the necessary steps. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord husband. I understand.”

“Good.”

They stood facing each other, breathing heavily until, several moments later, Ayla walked in and closed the door behind her. “The boy is gone,” she said in a low voice.

Jon crossed the room and pulled Daenerys into a tight hug. “Are you alright?” he asked and she nodded against his chest, still shaken. “My heart nearly stopped. We rode in and Ayla came to tell me you were speaking to the King. I thought… I was afraid…” he trailed off, unable to put thoughts into words.

“I didn’t know what to do. If… what if Cersei is the one who did it, to test me?”

“It seems not. The King spoke to me and Father. He didn’t give me many details, but he said he’d already been given word that your brother is planning to marry you to a Dothraki horse lord. He wanted me to be on my guard.”

Daenerys pulled back, horrified, remembering her lessons. “A Dothraki?”

“Yes. The man apparently has a cavalry around a hundred thousand strong. If they cross the Narrow Sea…”

“Why? Why would they cross the sea on the promise of a man that has no riches and for a woman they’ve never seen?”

Jon shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Dany sighed. “I'm not going anywhere. You are my husband. We were meant to be together. I believe that is why we were betrothed as babies, rather than the will of a scorned man.” Jon smiled, kissing her forehead and drawing her close again. Daenerys faltered in his arms and he held her up.

“Back to bed with you, milady,” said Ayla. “Too much excitement for the little one, and too soon.”

Dany didn’t protest, not even as Jon lifted her off the ground. “Stay,” she asked, holding his hand as he made to walk away. “Hold me.”

Jon smiled, nodding, reaching for his boots. “I’ll bring supper up to the room, milord,” Ayla said, closing the door quietly behind herself.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Dany didn’t sleep well that night. Everywhere she turned, there was a tall man with silver-blond hair and pale lilac eyes that ran after her, yelling cruel things. She knew who he was. Eventually, she found herself in the worst dream yet. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell._

_“You woke the dragon,” he screamed as he kicked her. “You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon!”_

_Her thighs were slick with blood, her abdomen burning with pain. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone. Great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was a black dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she gasped, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat._

Dany sat on the bed in a jump, the dream still in her mind.

“What?” Jon asked, sleep addled, sitting up frantically. “What is it? Are you in pain? Is it the baby?” Dany only shook her head, throwing herself in his arms, sobbing. Jon shushed her, holding her tightly. “It’s alright, Dany, it’s alright. He can't get to you. I promise.”

Dany only sobbed harder.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next fortnight blurred by quicker than anyone had thought possible. Catelyn’s absence was duly felt, but Sansa and Daenerys rushed in to help, aided by Ayla, until Wynafryd Manderly came from White Harbour to run the keep and take charge of Rickon. She was young, but well educated, and fell into her position with grace. Though everyone knew the offer, more than a friendly one from Ned in regards to the King’s order on House Starling’s status, was for Lord Manderly an opportunity to ingratiate his granddaughter to the heir of Winterfell.

Robert had declared, a few days after Viserys’ letter was discovered, that he would like to visit the Blessed Island. Knowing that a refusal was impossible, Jon was dismayed as he went to tell Daenerys.

“Well, having them as our first visitors will certainly be unpleasant, but it’s not like we can refuse,” she said, letting out a huge breath. “Ayla, I suppose we must start preparing the move, then. It’ll be tight, but I suppose we can make it.”

“Wait, you’re not upset?” Jon asked.

“I’m not happy, no. But why would I be upset?”

“We agreed we’d only go there together. See it for the first time together.”

“Well, yes.” Dany agreed. “I still don’t see the issue.”

“She should be fine in a carriage, milord,” Ayla said, already going through the cupboards in the room, checking their contents.

“Oh!” Dany exclaimed, understanding. “You thought you were going by yourself.”

“I _am_ going by myself. Dany, you almost—”

“If Ayla says it’s fine, then it’s fine. Stop fussing, Jon.”

And no argument could move her. The servants worked magic and their move was ready to go by the set date. They were all gathered in the Great Hall, the Royal Family, the Court, House Stark, and House Starling. In the middle of the farewell feast Ayla rushed by, approaching the high table to whisper in Jon’s ear. He stood up at once and went to where Ned sat by the King.

“Father, it’s Winter. She’s gone.” Ned froze with his goblet in the air, lead sinking his stomach. “I am afraid I shall have to excuse myself, Your Grace,” Jon continued. “But I must head down there. My housekeeper will see to Lady Starling.”

He didn’t even wait for Robert’s reaction before he’d disappeared among the feasters. “I must excuse myself as well, Robert,” Ned said. “Jon is the finest tamer we have,” he added, justifying his son’s haste in getting to the stables as completely unrelated to the previous mistress of the mare, “but I—”

But Robert had gone white. “You can't… you can't mean the horse. Her prized horse?”

Ned nodded. Good, he thought. Robert would be too distracted to find anything suspicious.

“I'm going with you,” the King declared, standing up.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a feast, your last night in Winterfell. You have no business seeing dead horses in the stables.”

“It was her prized horse, Ned. She loved that horse more than she loved me,” Robert insisted. “Of course I will be there.”

And he made his way out as well. _Poor devil_ , Ned thought, following his friend melancholically, _she loved so many things more than she loved you. Or rather, she never loved you at all_.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone sending lovely ideas and inspiration for the Blessed Island and their castle, which is taking a most lovely shape. And also all the other ideas and inspirations I've been sent, which always add to the story.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm looking forward for even more of your suggestions :)


	13. 12 The Blessed Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group make their way to Jon and Dany's home and Lord Starling has a gift for his wife.

**Chapter 12**

**The Blessed Island**

 

Late the next morning, Jon walked down to the crypts, crossing the busy courtyard. Carriages were being packed, carts were being loaded, and stable boys brought saddles and horses up from the stables. They were supposed to be leaving now, but no one could find Ned so Jon, Robb, and Theon had been dispatched in different directions to find him.

“That’s aunt Lyanna, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, approaching his father, who stood by the statue of the only woman buried there.

Ned took a deep breath. “This is my sister Lyanna, yes,” he said, unable to lie. Not that openly, not like this. And especially not here.

Jon saw the small urn next to the statue and frowned. “Why are you putting Winter’s ashes here? Why did you even have her cremated?”

“They belong together,” Ned answered. “You see, your grandfather gave Winter to Lyanna, still a foal, on her tenth name day. Lyanna was already a great rider and she was amazed with the gift. She raised Winter, the jewel of her eyes, her greatest pride. Other people called Lyanna a centaur, she rode so well. I found Winter when… when I found Lyanna, and I rode her back north, back home. Now they’re both gone. But they belonged together in life, so they shall be together in death.”

Jon nodded, unsure of what to say, seeing his father in a strange mood. All he knew from his aunt came from Old Nan, uncle Benjen, and stories people told. Ned never spoke about his sister. Jon knew that Ned was the one who found her after the Rebellion. After he’d gone to war to save his sister, he’d found her only to have her die in his arms. None of the children ever asked about her.

“She would have loved you dearly,” Ned whispered.

“I'm sure I would have loved her, too,” Jon said.

Ned grimaced and got uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “We should go,” he said, turning to leave. “Robert is not known for his patience.”

He walked down the tunnel, disappearing up the stairs. Jon took a last look at the statue. It seemed as if the woman was offering him the winter rose she had on her hand. Jon touched the smooth stone, feeling a shiver go up his arm and down his spine. He clutched the hand, something indescribable taking over his heart. “Good-bye,” he whispered, unsure where the urging came from.

Then he let it go and followed his father.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The caravan followed the Kingsroad to the White Knife and then rode on the riverbank down to White Harbour. The Queen was riding a huge wheelhouse drawn by forty horses and they were burdened with another carriage for Daenerys, Sansa, and Arya, as well as several carts taking the luggage from the Royals and the Court and the move of House Stark and House Starling, which meant they were not the fastest travellers.

Ned had decided that Sansa, Arya, and Bran would travel with him to King's Landing, while Robb would rule as Lord of Winterfell in his stead and care for Rickon, whom he deemed too young to come to the capital — the boy had _not_ been happy. Especially because Robb, Theon, and Ser Rodrik, all of whom were to remain in Winterfell, were joining the caravan to the Blessed Island to see Jon and Dany’s new home (and, according to Jon, make sure he could stand the Lannisters for another month and a half). So the youngest Stark had been left in Winterfell alone with Lady Wynafryd for the time being.

Jon was anxiously riding by the window of Dany’s carriage every hour or so to check if she was alright and not feeling any pain. She always smiled softly and reassured him, knowing his concern was genuine and loving him for it. But during their third night on the road, after their tent was set up and they were away from southern ears, Ayla angrily told him to mind his own business because she knew hers very well and if she said the babe was safe, then it was. The next day Jon decreed Ayla was joining the girls in their carriage and went ahead racing with Robb. Everyone was happier for it.

Due to their speed, it took them almost a whole moon to get to White Harbour, slowly advancing over the northern green plains, now blooming with life in the height of summer heat, the snow long melted. Their slow pace made the King each day more cross — he often complained loudly about ‘the monstrosity’ that slowed them down. Cersei was equally as upset. The day the wheelhouse lost an axle, the King yelled and cursed, threatening to take a smaller company ahead and leave ‘the bloody Queen to her bloody luxury’.

Finally, with both the wheelhouse and Cersei’s arrogant annoyance intact, they arrived in White Harbour. They would spend the night in New Castle to break their journey, so Lord Manderly had a grand reception awaiting them, a feast with singers and dancers. The Queen was less than appeased, but everyone else’s spirits seemed lifted with the rest from the road.

“If he is too fat for his horse,” Theon said during the party, a few horns of ale in, “do you think he’ll sink the ship tomorrow?”

Robb choked on his ale, but Jon threw him a censoring look. “You shouldn’t speak ill of your host.”

“I'm not speaking ill,” Theon said, laughing, “It is a genuine concern! Come on, look at the man!”

“To be safe,” Robb added, recovered, “it might be a good idea to have him in the ship with the least weight.”

Jon chuckled, surrendering to the joke. “Or in a ship by himself.” A horn of ale later, Jon found Sam sitting all by himself with a mournful face. “You, my friend, look like a child whose favourite toy just broke.”

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, surprised with the company. “Oh, it’s nothing. I'm being silly.”

Jon merely lifted an eyebrow. “Sam, we’ve known each other long enough. Come on, what is it?”

“You’ll think it’s ridiculous.”

“If it upsets you so much, I highly doubt it.”

“It’s just… I find I’ll miss Winterfell’s library.” Jon chuckled. “See you are laughing!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. I don’t think it’s ridiculous, no. I’ve asked uncle Benjen if there had been any books capable of being read left in the castle and he said there were very few salvageable by the time he got there—”

“Well, it had been four centuries since the castle has last been inhabited.”

“Yes, I know. He said there was a closed trunk that mostly survived, though it’s written in another language, most likely Valyrian.”

“Oh. I always wanted to learn, but…” he trailed off, the shadow of his father hovering over yet another topic.

“Yes, so has Dany,” Jon said, choosing to ignore the implication lest he decide to ride all the way to Horn Hill and call Lord Tarly foul names. “Your first job will be to find a tutor, maybe someone from the Free Cities. My father loaned me a few books, and Lord Tyrion has borrowed others he will kindly ask us to return to Winterfell, so you can read or copy them if you wish. But I promise to set aside a sum to get books. Slowly we might have something worthy of being called a library.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, Jon,” Sam said, and though Jon knew his friend to speak truly, his smile belied his words. “I know how expensive books can be.”

“Books are important, Sam. I’ll never love them as much as you and Lord Tyrion do — and I’ll certainly never read half as much as you, but I won't deny how important they are.”

“Oh, I wish I knew a spell to copy them faster,” Sam said and Jon frowned, making him laugh. “I always wished I could be a wizard.”

Jon laughed as well. “Alright! Well, then let me know when you do invent a clever way to copy several books at once!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dany was sitting with Sansa, Arya, Jeyne Poole, Beth Cassel, and two other southern girls, watching as a woman danced daringly with a snake when Joffrey decided it would be a good idea to get closer. Orys, the guard Jon had appointed to shadow Dany, stepped forward, standing right behind his lady.

“Lady Sansa,” the Prince said, “I would ask for the honour of a dance.”

“You must forgive me, Your Grace,” Sansa replied, suddenly scared, “but I'm afraid I find myself rather overtired from the journey.”

Joffrey was not pleased. “You dare refuse a dance to your Prince?”

Sansa shrunk back, startled, and Daenerys wanted nothing more than to put the blond boy in his place, but knew it wouldn’t be wise.

“Lady Sansa means no offence, Your Grace,” she managed to say. “She twisted her ankle as we left the carriage earlier today, so she does not feel well enough to dance.”

Joffrey clenched his jaw, visibly outraged. Daenerys doubted he had ever been refused before, and the experience clearly didn’t agree with him.

“Is something the matter, Lady Starling?” asked Greatjon Umber, suddenly stepping up next to Orys, menacingly placing his hand on the pommel of his sword in a very obvious manner.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, my lord,” Daenerys said, growing anxious as she saw other northern lords looking their way. Lord Glover and his brother, Lord Robett, were already coming over.

“Well, then,” Joffrey finally said in a tight voice, registering the incoming company, “if Lord and Lady Starling are capable of managing anything worthy of hosting the Royal Family, I suppose we might have something remotely deserving of being called a feast once we arrive in the dirt-packed ruin you call an island. I shall accept with grace the duty of conceding a dance to you then, Lady Sansa.”

With that he twirled on his heels and left quickly, the Hound hot on his heels, bristling at the look of so many hostile northerners. The Glovers joined the table in time to hear Joffrey’s offence and stared darkly at the Prince’s back. Neither were as furious as Lord Umber, who wore his heart in his sleeve.

“Thank you for your support, my lord,” Daenerys said, placing a hand on Greatjon’s arm, lest he finish unsheathing his sword.

He clenched his fists but let go of the pommel. “Let them say what they will about dragons, my lady, but you were raised a northern woman and married a son of the greatest northern House. You are one of us, and the North remembers. The little Prince will live to regret his offences to you and your lord husband. Let him grow up to wear the crown and he’ll see how much the North will love him.”

“Heed your words, my lord,” Lord Glover cautioned. “Too many ears about.”

“Let them hear. Might teach them not to raise a hand against their hosts’ good-daughter while a feast is expecting them.”

The other girls were looking curiously now, as only Sansa knew the details of Joffrey’s assault. They knew only whispers, all of them deemed too young and unmarried by their parents to hear such news.

“Shouldn’t we resume the merriment?” Dany asked. “My lords, I thank you for your support, but I doubt the Prince would dare go against his Royal father, and I have nothing if not love for our King, who has only ever been so kind to me and my lord husband. And this is a feast — let us drink and eat and dance.”

“Wise words, Lady Starling,” Lord Glover said. “It shall be done as you say.”

The three men left them. Trying to disperse the awkwardness, Daenerys called for more lemon cakes and wine, bidding the dancer to resume her number.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was barely past dawn when Jon rushed Daenerys from their guest chambers, allowed her to grab a heel of bread (“Ayla is packing our breakfast”), and dragged her all the way down to the harbour.

“I know we are leaving today, Jon,” she complained. “Why must we come down here before anyone else?”

“Because I want to give you your name day present and I don’t want an audience for it.”

“My name day isn’t for two days yet,” she said, frowning.

“I know. But it can't wait or it’ll lose all the meaning.”

She was even more confused but Jon only smiled and urged her to continue on their way. Down in the harbour, Jon led them to the dock where they could see a single longship made of lightly coloured wood and flying a blue sail with the sigil of House Starling.

“We have ships?” Dany asked with a smile.

“ _A_ ship,” Jon said. “We’ll have more now that we’re not spending so much rebuilding the castle and I’m making some trade agreements with Essosi merchants. But this is our first. The _Lady Daenerys_. Happy name day.”

She gasped, tears rushing to her eyes. “You’re naming it after me?” she asked and Jon only smiled. Dany looked around, seeing there were too many people around. “Can we go aboard?”

“Of course,” Jon said, taking her hand. “We do have the main cabin,” he added with a sly smile.

“Good,” Dany answered. “How long until the others join us?”

“At least two hours, most likely more. Why? What is my lady wife thinking?”

“I am thinking that we have had to keep it quiet for a month now in that dreadful tent. I would like to scream again.”

“Oh, I would love that,” Jon said, leading them below decks.

“But if we have the main cabin…”

“The King had a few of the royal ships come north from King's Landing. He can sail in his own damned main cabin.”

Dany chuckled, amused, and finally Jon bolted the door behind them and she pulled him into a deep kiss quickly. The familiar fire started burning low in her belly and she reached for his laces, ripping them away in her haste.

“I think our child makes your blood boil,” he mumbled into the kiss, trying to get rid of her laces as well.

“We are the blood of the dragon.”

“Hot,” he almost groaned, giving up and throwing her on the bed, bunching her skirts out of his way.

When the noises of the others coming aboard woke them from their nap, almost three hours later, they needed to wait until Doreah and Patrik brought them new changes of clothes before coming up to the main deck.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon walked into the cabin carrying a basket. Daenerys was sitting at the dressing table and Doreah was brushing her hair.

“Where were you?” Dany asked. “It’s almost time for supper.”

“We are not going to supper tonight, we’re dining alone here,” Jon said, raising the basket, making her smile softly. “You thought I’d forget?”

“We are in the middle of the bay and we can act too lovingly in front of the southerners. And I already got my present. I didn’t think we would…”

“No one but the family even remembers it’s your name day. Robb is spreading the unfortunate news that I'm indisposed and you are, of course, not going anywhere without my presence.”

Daenerys smiled and dismissed Doreah. “You, my lord, spoil me too much.”

“I should hope so, my lady, because a princess is entitled to much more than a simple lord like me can offer.”

“Gods help me if we have a daughter,” Dany said, sitting on his lap and enjoying immensely the way his arms wrapped around her waist. “You’ll spend half our income in toys and dolls and anything else she might desire.”

“ _When_ we have a daughter, be it this time or the next, I will most certainly spoil her rotten.”

She chuckled. “Then you can start by feeding us. I'm ravenous. What are we feasting?”

“Smoked salmon. Lord Manderly was boasting loudly about his smokehouse.”

“I heard. And what we had last night was delicious.”

“We will be living in an island. Saltwater fish will be very easy to have.”

“Good,” Dany said, already reaching for a piece of fish. “Our child likes this meal. It is moving again.”

“When did Ayla say I can feel it from the outside?”

“Not for another moon at least,” Dany replied, placing his hand where she felt the movement anyway.

“Aye, nothing yet,” he said, unhappy. “Well, I’ll have to doubly spoil you then, to bribe the babe into moving for me.”

“Gods, we’ll end up with a dancing juggler!”

Jon laughed, kissing her cheek before starting to eat himself.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

They sailed south, then east, past The Three Sisters, a tiny bit north again and then the island came into view. The castle could be seen from a great distance, black against the clear blue sky — the stones had been carved out of the volcanic rock the island was made of. It stood in the very middle of the island, on top of a hill that raised it at a hundred feet from the rest of the land. There were numerous towers, from the outer archery towers — only as tall as the battlements — to the tallest one that reached 500 feet from the sea. Behind it, the volcano could be seen, tall and majestically imposing, snow eternally covering its peak.

“Quite the sight,” Jon said, an arm around Dany’s shoulders. She smiled, burrowing deeper in his embrace — it was a familiarity denied in front of southern eyes, but they were miraculously alone with the sailors on deck.

“It’s our home,” she said, smiling. “I love it already. It’s very imposing.”

Jon chuckled. “Of course you’d think that with your Valyrian blood. Though the castle has stood unconquered for millennia, so I suppose it must be imposing.”

“Remind me to thank your father once again. And not in front of the Lannisters.”

Jon agreed, indulgently, and they watched as their home came ever nearer. The ships got as close as they could before dropping anchor, and Benjen was waiting for them at the pier when the boats moored.

“Lady Starling,” he said, helping Daenerys up to the pier, “Lord Starling,” he nodded at Jon, “welcome home.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only the initial description of the island — more will follow in the next chapter, along with visual aid (anyone who plays minecraft or is good at drawing and wants to volunteer to help will be greatly appreciated).
> 
> I'd like to say a huge thank you to Cassidy_And_The_Company for all the help and ideas she's given me and for suggesting Mount Rainier as an inspiration for the Blessed Island. So a round of applause and my heartfelt thanks :) Google it and you'll get a great sense of what the place looks like.


	14. 13 The Midnight Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jon are shown to their castle and Jon gets a bit of revenge. Back in the continent, Catelyn finally arrives at Riverrun.

**Chapter 13**

**The Midnight Fortress**

 

The main harbour receiving the passengers and cargo of the ships coming from the Bite and the Narrow Sea rested in the mouth of the Sunset Bay, formed by a peninsula that stretched out of the Blessed Island’s coast. Around the harbour, there was a small village, mostly of merchants and fishermen. There, they needed to cross the pier and go into smaller boats to make the hour-long trip up the main river that would take them to Holy Lake, which bathed the very heart of the island. Sitting in the middle of the lake, there was yet another island, and that is where the castle stood on top of a hill.

Made from black volcanic rock and fortified as it was — tall and thick double walls, sitting in an island with only two drawbridges and in the centre of the main island itself, the old Valyrian lords had seen fit to name the castle ‘the Midnight Fortress’. Jon had to agree with Dany, from this close, their home seemed even more imposing than it had seemed from the deck of the ship just that morning.

The _Lady Daenerys_ had been the first ship to drop anchor and Jon, Dany, and the Starks had been on the first boat upriver, which meant they had plenty of time to appreciate the land around them without listening to Lannisters. Their boat docked in a little pier facing the volcano and the narrow cobblestoned road was skirted by yet another village that housed those who worked in the castle. The walk from the pier through the village and up to the castle wasn’t long, but it took them some time to complete since the villagers were quite eager to welcome their Lord and Lady, as well as the King and the Royal Family.

“She’s going to be a great mom,” Robb said quietly to Jon as Daenerys crouched down to receive flowers from a group of children. They smiled widely when Dany accepted the gift and she and Sansa weaved them in Dany’s braids.

Jon smiled, reassured now that his wife was feeling no more pain, even with the long voyage. “I hope the gods hear you, brother.”

Before he could panic at the gift another girl brought, Ayla intercepted the child, unmaking the crown of lilac roses into separate flowers again before the girl could present it. Jon exhaled. The last thing they needed was the King or the Queen seeing Daenerys wearing a crown, made of roses or not.

She stood up, turning to Jon with the pleading eyes he’d never been able to refuse. Chuckling, he called the on-looking baker, who was beyond happy to receive a few coins to serve cakes to the children.

“That’s enough kindness in front of them,” Jon said, offering her his arm so they could resume their walk. Robert was taking delight in the love from the common folk, but Cersei had refused the carriage uncle Benjen had waiting at the pier out of spite and was walking with the rest of the group, looking down on everyone and everything.

Daenerys rolled her eyes, accepting yet another flower from a child. “I take back what I said,” she whispered, watching with a smile as the children flocked to the bakery, “I don’t want them in our home at all.”

“You know I couldn’t refuse the King’s request,” he said and she scoffed. “Dany!” he chastised. “One week. One more week and they’ll be on a boat back to the continent. Please. We’ve made it this far.”

She nodded with a sigh, and they finally reached the main courtyard. The walls of the castle were conspicuously weak, as if no one had thought to strengthen them. Jon knew it to be a lie — the last time he and his father had gone over the plans, they’d decided to make the walls at least doubly as thick as they currently were, reinforced with many more battlements and archery towers. But it looked like uncle Benjen had redirected the construction team after news of the King riding north came.

“I thought uncle Benjen said the door of the castle was red,” Dany whispered.

“It’s supposed to be,” Jon said just as quietly. Black and red — Dany had gotten a kick out of it when they were told, years and years ago. The current door was made of a lighter wood, though, not as thick as they had planned and the ironworks were common iron, not thick cold-wrought steel. “I think uncle Benjen tuned down the castle defences,” he added. “For the King’s benefit.”

“A good idea. After Joffrey’s attack and my brother’s letter…”

“We have scout ships surrounding the whole island. No ship will come close without being identified. I doubled the guards on the harbour and I'm sure uncle Benjen thought of something else to be in place of the defences he took out.”

Like Winterfell with its hot springs, the castle was warmed by the volcano, which warmed the earth beneath the land, but Benjen had left all the windows open, so a chilly breeze was making the corridors seem cold and the lack of lit torches made them dark.

Servants scurried by, taking luggage and showing everyone to their rooms. Ayla took charge quickly, bossily telling people to go one way or another. “Come,” Benjen said, “let the servants sort the rest. I’ll show you two to the Lord’s chambers. We had to rush, but we managed to finish.”

“Even the last bit?” Jon asked.

“Yes, even the last bit,” Benjen answered with a smile.

“What bit?” Daenerys asked, curious.

“A surprise, love. Come on, let’s see our chambers.”

Benjen led them through the castle to the family wing. This door was coated with some reddish varnish and the corridor beyond it was much more welcoming, torches burning from sconces set every few feet apart, no opened windows letting in a draft. At the end of the corridor, a big door painted in blue sported the sigil of House Starling.

“This is your private sitting room,” Benjen said after a servant had opened the door and they were inside.

Daenerys gasped, amazed. The walls, floor, and ceiling, like the rest of the castle, were made of black volcanic rock, but the room was so beautifully decorated it was light and welcoming rather than dark. The room was a heptagon and on the wall next to them a fire burned in the huge fireplace, next to a big bear pelt serving as a rug. Around it, blue sofas and an armchair provided a comfortable space to sit. Taking up the rest of the space was a dining table that would seat six people. The other walls had doors to the next chambers.

“The first one is Jon’s study,” Benjen said, pointing, “followed by his dressing room, then the bedchamber, then Dany’s dressing room and her study. And all rooms are connected to the ones next to it. Where would you rather start?”

“With the surprise,” Jon said, excited.

Benjen laughed. “Come on, then. This way.” He led them two doors down the corridor, by which time they could hear the Stark children approaching. “Go on, I’ll make sure they each take their own rooms and leave you alone.

“Close your eyes, love,” Jon asked eagerly.

“Jon, what are you—”

“Come on, please. Just indulge me for a moment.” Chuckling, Dany did as he bid and Jon led her through a door and into a new room. “You can open now,” he said.

As her purple eyes refocused, she gasped again. In the middle of the room a round fluffy blue rug laid beneath a beautifully ornamented cradle, carved in a soft light-coloured wood. The bedding was all blue and grey, though one of the blankets was a vivid blood red. Hanging over it was a mobile made of wolves, dragons, and roses figurines. The rest of the furniture — a tall shelf, a big chest of drawers, a changing table, and a small cot — all used the same light-coloured wood. But it was the opened door across the room that called to Dany. Stepping outside and onto the balcony she could see the sun making its way to the top of the sky, miles and miles of blue-green ocean surrounding them behind the imposing and terrifying beauty of the ice-topped volcano.

“Sunrise must be beautiful in this wing,” Jon said, stepping next to her.

Smiling, tears rushing down her cheeks, Daenerys turned to him. “I love it. It’s a beautiful nursery.”

“And it _will be_ occupied,” Jon said assertively, placing his hand delicately on the swell of her belly. “And we’ll choose a lot of toys for our baby.”

Dany nodded, putting her hand on top of his and reaching up to kiss him. “I think I’d rather see our bedchamber now,” she said kissing up a line from his chin to bite his earlobe.

“You are a menace.” Jon said, picking her up in his arms to go to their bed.

“You love it,” she said, kissing down his neck.

He laughed. “I really do.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon laughed loudly when Theon was thrown to the ground yet again. Even Sam, who usually didn’t enjoy visiting the training yard, was having a good time. Ser Rodrik had accompanied the Stark host and they had gathered to have sparring practice. At the moment, Robb was trashing Ned’s ironborn ward after being beaten by his brother. Bran was watching them from Jon’s side, cheering for their brother and laughing along.

Everyone in the training yard — Ser Rodrik, Jon, Sam, Bran, uncle Benjen, a few of the stable boys, the northern lords that had followed them from Winterfell, Lord Manderly, who had joined them at White Harbour, the lords from Court, and even the two Kingsguards — was enjoying the practise. That is, until Joffrey came, followed closely by the Hound, his sworn sword. Then Jon stopped laughing and all the others faded along with his. No one liked the Prince, that much was clear.

“Why the long faces?” the blond boy sneered, noticing the shift in the mood. No one answered him. “You don’t spar, Starling?”

“I’ve had my turn, _Your Grace_ ,” Jon said through clenched teeth.

“And what, afraid you’ll lose to your trueborn half-brother? He is, of course, far superior.”

Jon’s eyes flashed with anger, but he bit his tongue, almost drawing blood. “Perhaps you should spar, Your Grace,” Greatjon Umber said. “Show us brute northerners how you southerners do it.”

It was a veiled insult, much more because everyone knew the chances of Joffrey actually knowing how to handle the golden sword he wore on his hip were slim. But Lord Umber had been one of the most insulted with Joffrey’s ‘punishment’, or at least the most vocal, and he seemed keen to give Jon an opportunity to retaliate.

“This is a game for children, my Lord,” the Prince said, feigning boredom.

Theon, back to his feet, gave a sudden bark of laughter. “You are a child,” he said derisively. He’d never liked Jon, and loved to insult him for being a bastard, but even he had been outraged with Joffrey’s actions.

“Robb may be a child,” Joffrey said, scoffing, “but I am a prince. And I do not see the point in swatting at Starks with a play sword.”

“I didn’t mean Lord Robb,” the Greatjon said. “If you are sparring, my Prince, you should spar with the lord of the castle.”

Everyone was excited for the event now. The northerners, who knew of Jon’s skill with a blade, were unworried and anticipating the Prince’s humiliation. The Lannister loyalists seemed to think it impossible Jon would win the match, as none of them would fathom humiliating their Prince.

“Unless His Grace is afraid,” Robb said, knowing pushing Joffrey’s buttons would work.

The Prince looked at him. “Oh, I am terrified,” he said. “As if a lowborn bastard had enough skill, let alone brains, to triumph over a prince!” Some of the Lannister men laughed. The northerners bristled. “But as I said, I do not see the point of swatting at _bastards_ with play swords.

Ser Rodrik tugged at his white whiskers. “Nevertheless, I won't have live steel in the hands of boys under my care. You may handle a sword when you are of age. _Both_ of you,” he added, knowing Jon and Robb would complain.

And Robb was furious. His pride was wounded and his emotions were still running wild, they had been ever since Joffrey attacked Daenerys and Catelyn had left. He turned on Ser Rodrik. “Let me do it. I can beat him.”

“Beat him with a tourney blade, then,” Ser Rodrik said.

Joffrey feigned a yawn and shrugged. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not _too_ old.” There was laughter from the Lannister men.

“He’s right, Robb,” Jon said. “It would be no fun to beat him with a wooden sword.”

“Who said he’d beat me?”

Jon laughed. “I think our four-year-old baby brother could beat you.”

“You’re very much mistaken, _bastard_ ,” Joffrey said, provoked. “And I will prove it to you. Your master-at-arms may be a coward, but I am not. Though I will do as he says to spare your life. Bring us the tourney swords!”

Jon felt energy pumping within his blood. For the past two moons he’d imagined nothing but Joffrey’s face every time he swung a sword or let an arrow loose. He could taste the justice on his tongue now. Soon enough, someone brought the blunt weapons and the crowd around the training yard had tripled in the time it took. Even Arya had escaped her stitching lesson again — not that Ayla insisted on her presence like Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane had.

Jon and Joffrey took their positions. The Lord wanted to laugh: the Prince had taken a leisure stance, a loose grip on his sword, as if he was posing for a picture. _He is taking all the fun out of it_ , Jon thought. _It will be over before he even notices it’s begun_. Theon cleared his throat, drawing Jon’s attention to a puddle that had formed with some previous rain. Jon hid a smile, holding back. He waited, looking at Joffrey, who was obviously waiting for Jon to start. Finally, the blond brat ran out of patience and attacked, waiving his sword in the air aimlessly. Jon dodged it easily, not even raising his own sword. Almost everyone watching laughed.

That incensed Joffrey even more. He kept attacking, no skill or aim or _anything_ , really. Jon just dodged it, parrying one or two swats just to change it up, drawing out the Prince’s humiliation. Until he decided enough was enough, turned until Joffrey was in the right direction and, with three well placed swings, the Prince found himself collapsed in a heap on the ground, landing on his backside right on the mud puddle, his sword flying a few yards away.

Jon lowered his sword. “Isn't it strange? I thought bastard swords were never half as good as a trueborn’s.”

Everyone in the yard was silent. Jon gave his practice sword to a boy to put away and turned to leave. The northern lords, led by Greatjon Umber, gave a loud round of applause. But as he walked away, nothing gave Jon greater pleasure than Joffrey’s shocked and then humiliated face, his golden blond hair plastered with dark mud, the red leather of his jerkin dirty.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jaime flinched when Joffrey fell, feeling the wave of humiliation second-handed.

“Ouch,” Tyrion said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That must have hurt.”

“That was more an embarrassment than painful,” Jaime sighed.

“Oh, but our dear Joffrey feels wounds in his ego much more than he feels them in his skin. I can only imagine what a great warrior with so many songs about his skills in battle would feel watching his son humiliated like this,” the dwarf needled. “What do you think, brother?”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “You’ll have to ask Robert.”

“Of course, of course. What a dutiful uncle you are,” Tyrion sunk the knife deeper. “Speaking of, where is our sister?”

“Sulking,” Jaime answered. “I left before she smothered me with it.”

“I’ll bet. No doubt she was expecting a half-ruined hut.”

“This island might not be as big, but it’s as fertile as the Reach. They’ll be more than able to produce enough food to even sell the surplus.”

“That one you can blame on Robert.”

Jaime exhaled heavily. “Robert gives this to the bastard and the dragon bitch, then over a thousand men, all the while Cersei’s brilliance shields the girl.”

“The situation is getting out of our control, brother. Father won’t like it.”

“He’ll like it even less when he learns Cersei is losing authority over Joffrey.”

“My poor, deluded, naïve big brother,” Tyrion said with a snort, “any control Cersei had over Joffrey has been an illusion for years now. He goes along with much she says because it suits his moods, but if any of you thought you had any power over him you are sorely mistaken.”

“I know,” Jaime sighed. “I don’t like it. First Jon Arryn starts asking too many questions, then he dies suddenly, next the fat fool wants to ride North, the whole ugly business in Winterfell, and now the _Starlings_ ,” he said derisively, “are growing stronger and powerful. None of it bodes well for us.”

“You would do well to caution our sister some restraint.”

“As if she’d listen!”

Tyrion looked at his brother seriously. “You are the only one of us who could ever hope to get through to her, Jaime. If she won't listen to you, then she’s as uncontrollable as Joffrey. And I don’t think I need to tell you what happens to people who grow dangerously unpredictable.”

“No,” Jaime sighed, “you don’t need to.”

“Get her to listen, big brother,” Tyrion warned. “Get her to listen.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was Edmure who was waiting at the courtyard in Riverrun when the carriage rode in. He had a very upset face as he helped his sister out.

“Cat,” he greeted as they hugged. “I must say this is a very odd surprise.”

“Oh. I… I thought Ned would have sent a raven.”

“He did, he did. But that didn’t clear up much. All he said was that ‘Lady Catelyn Tully is on her way to her lord father’s home, where she will remain for an indefinite period of time under Lord Tully’s custody’,” Edmure quoted and Catelyn wanted to cry. She hadn’t been Catelyn Tully since the day of her wedding. “What did you do, big sister?”

“He is angry with me,” was all she answered.

Edmure gave her a patronising look. “Oddly enough Father was able to reach that conclusion.”

“Where is Father?”

“In his study. He doesn’t like stairs much these days, so he said he’d wait for you there.”

Edmure led the way and the sights of her childhood home were a curse rather than a blessing to Catelyn. Hoster stood up from his desk, heavily leaning on a cane when they entered.

“Father,” Catelyn greeted, “it warms my heart to see you so well.”

“I wish I could say the same, daughter. But your lord husband’s raven gives me a very cold impression.”

“I have made him angry.”

“Ha! Honourable and cold Ned Stark, and you manage to drive him angry enough to send you away!” Hoster exclaimed in an old and tired voice. “That is a feat, Catelyn!”

“I have made a mistake, Father. My lord husband is so protective of that bastard of his…”

“That is irrelevant, Father,” Edmure cut in. “By sending her back, and while the Royals are his guests, Eddard Stark is setting her aside in front of the whole realm. He is dishonouring her and our House and shaming us publicly. I say we…”

“You are a great big fool if you think I’m calling the banners and marching North just like that. I know Ned Stark. He is an honourable fool and—”

“An honourable fool with a bastard,” Edmure scoffed.

“And how many bastards do you have, my son?” Hoster asked sarcastically. “I will investigate this further. If I find that Ned Stark is shaming us, then I will call the banners. But I won't go to war with a Great House, with the Hand of the King no less, because my daughter can't manage her marriage.”

“But Father…”

“Enough! Catelyn, go to your rooms to rest, you must be wearied from the journey. Edmure, call the maester. I want to send a raven to your uncle and one to Ned Stark.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	15. 14 Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going in a hunt organised by Robert, Jon explores a bit more of his lands, while the Stark children connection to their wolves shows its strength.

**Chapter 14**

**Falling**

 

Jon burst through the room, his blood still pumping strongly through his veins, the exhilaration of humiliating the arrogant peacock of a prince making him boil with lust.

“Doreah, you are dismissed,” he said. “Lady Starling and I are not to be disturbed by anyone or anything until we call for you or Patrik.”

The former pleasure-girl only smirked, leaving in a rush. Daenerys stood up from her chair with a raised eyebrow.

“What are you— oh!” she exclaimed as Jon crossed the room and pulled her into a bruising kiss, his hands already going to the laces of her dress, growling in frustration and ripping them open when they knotted. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked with a moan, uncaring for the state of her dress, going for the laces of his jerkin.

“Joffrey showed up at the training yard,” he answered pulling her heavy skirts out of the way.

“And?” she asked with a gasp, her hands trembling as they reached for the laces of his breeches.

“He wanted to spar,” Jon said as he kissed down the column of her throat.

“Is he alive?” Dany chuckled. He bit onto her pulse point, making her moan loudly. “That is going to bruise.”

“So will his arse,” Jon answered reaching the valley of her breasts. “And his ego. Can’t say which one will be worse in the morning.”

“His ego I’ll bet.”

“Don’t care,” Jon grumbled, hoisting her up onto her desk and in the process of spreading her legs ripping her small clothes apart. “Gods, I love you!”

“I…” Dany couldn't even finish her sentence before a scream of pure pleasure left her lips as he slipped inside her, and she relished the rough pace he set. “I love you too! Gods! Jon, don't stop!”

“Never,” he growled, feral.

Dany could feel the coil tightening in her belly, the sparks flying through her limbs. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the storm.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was only much later that Daenerys was able to catch her breath. She lost count of how many times she reached the stars as they were joined first frantically on top of the desk in her study, then a second time in the sofa of the sitting room — caught up in their passion midway — and then finally a third time against the door of their bedchamber.

Finally Jon was able to carry them both to bed and they laid entwined, barely having the strength to pull the furs up to their waists, the ties of his tunic irremediably broken and her shift torn all the way up to her hips. They cuddled together on their sides on the bed, legs tangled.

“Ayla will be furious,” Dany said, chuckling. “Again.”

“I thought the handmaiden was the one who mended dresses,” Jon said, playing with her long silver hair.

“Usually. But Doreah is helpless with a needle, so Ayla is the one doing it. Patrik is not much help either. According to her, ‘he mends as if the tear was a mammoth he was trying to vanquish’.” They both laughed. “She said that if we continued tearing so many clothes she’d hire a proper seamstress as a second handmaiden.”

“She’d better do that, then, if she doesn’t want to be overworked,” Jon said.

“Have you no shame, Lord Starling? Savagely ripping your lady wife’s clothes like this?”

“No shame whatsoever. I love you and your clothes are in the way of me worshipping you. And don't speak as if you don't rip my clothes just as often.”

She chuckled, sighing and cuddling deeper into his embrace, letting sleep take over her. Smiling, Jon kissed her forehead and surrendered to sleep as well.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Cersei was furious. She would have thrown something across the room, but her guest chambers were sparsely decorated and didn't have any vases to suffer the brunt of her anger. It fell to her bedding, which she was ripping apart angry thought by angry thought.

_How dare he!_

_A bastard from an unnamed whore!_

_To raise a sword against his Prince!_

_To beat his Prince!_

_To humiliate her precious boy!_

_All to avenge his whore of a wife!_

And then the witch’s words came back ‘Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear’.

Cersei shivered. _Younger and more beautiful_. A girl of five-and-ten, pale skin, the delicate Valyrian features, the signature silver hair and amethyst eyes. Younger by two decades and more beautiful, and with the right bloodline to claim the throne. At least Robert hated Targaryens enough that he hadn’t dared strengthen Joffrey's claim by wedding him to the dragon whore.

She ripped the last shred of the bed sheet and stared at the mess for several moments. She needed to punish the bastard. Robert was too hangover to care, probably still sleeping the daze of last night’s welcoming feast with some whore warming his bed. To make matters worse, he had fallen in love with the little weasel, the son of his faithful friend. Robert would do nothing. Robert always did nothing.

“You! Boy!” she called, in the hallway. The boy, seeming about ten years old, put down his bucket and pulled off his hat, his little hands covered in soot. Cersei showed him a gold dragon coin. “Would you like this?” he nodded frantically. “It’s yours if you show me to Lord and Lady Starling’s chambers.”

The child nodded again, hid the bucket of firewood in a corner of the corridor and led the way. They crossed almost the entire length of the castle, dark hallways and cold spots empty for centuries. Finally they reached what was obviously the family wing, for it was warmer and more decorated than the rest of the entire building.

“Wait ‘ere Yer Grace,” the boy said. He looked around the corner. “There’s them guards, Yer Grace. I can show ye the service passages if ye please.”

Cersei pursed her lips. She was the Queen, she could certainly force her way through the guards. At the same time, she didn’t want to cause a bigger scene. And she might want to see the inside of the Lord’s chambers without a mess.

“Is it far?” she asked.

“No, Yer Grace. Door is righ’ there,” he pointed to a tapestry a few feet away. “And from there it’s just to the end of corridor.”

Cersei nodded and the boy pulled the blue tapestry away, remembering to get a torch from a nearby bucket and lighting it up. They walked down the narrow passage for about a hundred feet until the boy stopped behind a door the Queen wouldn't have noticed if she were alone. He listened for a moment then opened it carefully and poked his head into the room beyond.

“‘tis empty Yer Grace,” he said and Cersei walked into the room. While her guest bedroom was cold and empty and unwelcoming, this room was warm and inviting. “That door there,” the boy pointed, “that’s them bedchamber. Dressing and studies to the sides.”

“Wait here,” Cersei said, giving the boy the coin. He clung to it and nodded, pulling the door closed and vanishing.

She walked quietly to the first door next to the fireplace. There was no other sound in the room, but she didn’t want to risk the guards coming in. It was a study, also well decorated. The next room was the Lord’s dressing room. She left it and bypassed the bedchamber, going to the room in the other end. Another study, certainly the lady’s. Then her dressing room and Cersei cursed as she crossed into the next. This one was not made of the same black rock, but rather white marble streaked with dark grey lines. In the centre of the room was not a bathing tub, but there was a pool carved into the marble, big enough to fit two people more than comfortably.

Cersei was trembling with anger and jealousy now. She crossed the room going to the door connecting to the last room, which could only be the bedchamber. She stopped short, biting her lips strongly, to the point of drawing blood, to prevent sound from escaping. There, laying in the huge canopied bed, were the bastard and the dragon whore, tangled together, obviously sleeping off some tryst.

Her effort was not all successful, because Daenerys stirred, groaning and burrowing deeper into her husband’s arms. From her vantage point, all Cersei could see from Jon was his back, half covered by furs and the silky canopy.

“Did you hear that?” the whore asked.

“It was nothin’. Go back to sleep,” the bastard grumbled, pulling her against him. She seemed to want to protest. “Sleep, Dany. They’ll wake us for supper.”

He kissed her forehead sweetly and they settled back into each other. Cersei stepped back quietly, closing the door as silently as she could and almost fleeing the bathing chamber. She managed to find the right tapestry and the boy was still there, waiting. She tossed him another coin.

“Take me back to my chambers. Through these passages,” she barked out the order and the boy nodded, picking up the torch and leading the way. He smartly avoided other servants and they arrived at her guest chambers unseen.

Cersei contemplated what to do for a moment. She could so easily push the boy down the stairs, and her little secret would be safe (she had kept her tears well guarded, but the boy knew of her excursion). But then she couldn’t do it and reach for the coins at the same time, and a dead boy with two golden dragons in his pockets so close to her chambers would attract the wrong kind of attention. She threw the boy a third coin.

“For your silence.”

“Thank ya, Yer Grace!”

Cersei thought of something then. “I’ll make you a deal, boy. A friend of mine will look for you soon. If you tell him secrets, things that happen in the castle, then he will give you sweets and food and coins. Tell your friends, the ones you can trust to help you, then all of you can get sweets.”

The boy nodded, a huge smile in his sunken, hungry face. Cersei walked into her room, yelling in pure frustration as the door closed. _Fools! Young fools in love!_ That was why her plan had failed, the dragon whore _loved_ her bastard husband, and he loved her back.

She ripped the rest of the bedding and half the pillows. But her plan might work. The boy would bring her whispers. She only needed to find someone to coordinate the children and then send her the news in King’s Landing. If Varys had his little birds, why couldn’t she?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robert Baratheon was a man of simple tastes: he liked wine, though he wasn’t picky about the taste of the vintage (if it was well enough through the night he’d accept even the more bitter ale, only to keep his senses dulled); he liked his women; and he liked to hunt and eat the meat fresh, boasting of his kill. Killing and fucking, the lords would say behind his back.

So, after spending his first full day at the Blessed Island recovering from the feast of their arrival, the King organised a hunt to leave at daybreak. Joffrey had insisted to go, certainly to try and erase the image Jon’s thrashing had given of him (“most likely to try and drive a spear through Starling’s head”, Theon had said. Robb had snapped back that the Prince was welcome to _try_.)

Bran was positively furious he was being left behind, and had complained to his father that he wasn’t a baby, like Rickon, who had been left alone in Winterfell with his nanny and Lady Wynafryd, nor was he a girl like Arya and Sansa and the Princess Myrcella. Ned had chuckled and said Bran would be old enough soon.

So the nine-year-old boy took to his favourite hobby: climbing. He was well-used to Winterfell’s walls and towers, but the Midnight Fortress provided him with new challenges, and plentiful at that — the old Valyrian lords who had the castle built centuries before had used architecture inspired by their motherland, what meant several towers. Ned and Benjen had decided to keep with the original buildings rather than tear everything down. Besides, if the structures had resisted four centuries unmanned and unmaintained, it was an indication they should keep standing.

So Bran took to exploring one of the dozens of round towers rising inside the keep, a bit further away from the main courtyard, lest someone see him and interrupt his fun. He was focusing on being careful, trying to learn the unfamiliar stones, so he didn’t notice the two people talking until he was right outside the window.

“Robert loves the man like a brother,” Cersei said, though Bran didn’t recognise the voices just yet.

“Robert can barely stomach his brothers,” Jaime answered, scoffing. “Not that he can be blamed on that account.”

“Don’t play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark just as easily as he will ignore the Baratheons. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him.”

“That’s just it, isn't it? None of your ‘thoughts’ have been right ever since Jon Arryn died,” Jaime needled, earning himself a glare.

 _They were talking about Father_ , Bran realised. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet… but these stones were new to him, and he was suddenly afraid to trust them. Several feet beneath him, Summer was pacing, whimpering. Bran wanted to shoo the direwolf away — now more than ever he needed to go unnoticed. If Summer kept it up, the people in the tower would come to the window and they’d see Bran hanging there.

“We will have to watch him carefully,” Cersei insisted.

“You will watch him carefully, regardless of my opinion,” Jaime said and he sounded bored. “We should go.”

“Ned Stark has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck,” she went on. “Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power?”

“A hundred reasons. Duty. Honour. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Well, I suppose he did get away from his wife, sending her all the way to Riverrun. Or perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life.”

“His wife is Lady Arryn’s sister. It’s a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her accusations.”

“Maybe that’s why Catelyn left, to meet with her sister. Console her.”

Cersei laughed. “Lysa Arryn is not the kind of woman who would have mourned her husband. She’d sooner rejoice his death. She ran with the boy back to the Eyrie, and that is another problem altogether. She snatched that sickly child away on the moment Father agreed to foster him. What if they are conspiring against us?”

“You’re growing too paranoid. Ned Stark doesn’t have the brains for a conspiracy.”

“Doesn’t he?”

“Is this about the Targaryen girl again?” Jaime asked with a sigh.

“She is pretending!” Cersei insisted. “I told you—”

“And _I_ told _you_ your ingenuity shielded the girl once more. Must we really rehash this argument?”

“She’ll come at us with renewed rage, mark my words.”

“Well, you had your son assault her and almost take her child from her,” Jaime sneered. “You insulted her as a woman and as a mother.” Then he snorted. “Mothers,” he made the word sound like a curse. “I think having a womb does something to your minds. You are all mad.” He laughed bitterly. “Let the little dragon grow as bold as she likes. Whatever can she do?”

“She has a House and an army.”

“A thousand swords the fat fool gave them. A thousand swords rag-tagged from other armies. That will never account for a true army.”

Bran looked down to the ledge a bit beneath him. It was too far to fall and he didn’t trust these stones. Those were not the grey stones of Winterfell. They were black and unknown, and not nearly as old. And he was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears, which made him all the more eager to listen.

“You are as blind as Robert,” the Queen continued their conversation, unaware of their audience.

“If you mean I see the same thing, yes,” Jaime replied. “I see a man who would sooner die than betray his King.”

“He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten? Oh, I don’t deny he’s loyal to Robert, that’s obvious. But what happens when Robert dies and Joffrey takes the throne? What if Ned Stark decides his loyalty was to Robert, but will then change to the dragon he married to his bastard? My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He’s still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?”

“You speak of Lyanna Stark and yet you forget it was a dragon who killed her. And another who killed their father and brother. Ned Stark will never declare for House Targaryen again.”

“What about his son? I did my inquiring at Winterfell — Lord Stark never speaks of his sister. The children know she was kidnapped and raped and that’s what ultimately led to the rebellion, but they don’t resent the dragons, not when the little bitch grew up like a sister and married their beloved bastard brother.” She snorted. “Catelyn Stark was a fool, to allow her husband’s bastard growing up under her nose.”

“Robert decreed the betrothal, there was nothing she could do to keep the boy away. That didn’t hold for you. And he wouldn’t have dared.”

“He threatened once. I told him the girl wouldn’t be safe in the city. She’s out of my reach, safe in the Eyrie. And it’s not like I could get to the other one at Storm's End. However much I’d like to have their heads bashed in and delivered to the throne room.”

Jaime shivered, bad memories surfacing again. Little Rhaenys, butchered and wrapped in a Lannister banner, lying in front of the Iron Throne. Baby Aegon, unrecognisable after the Mountain had thrown him against a wall, his face a shapeless heap of meat matching the red cloth he was also surrounded by. Between them, the brutalised remains of Princess Elia. _No woman deserves this_ , he thought yet again.

Outside, Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find the others, hoping they’d returned already. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realised. He had to see who was talking.

Jaime sighed inside the tower. “We should get back before someone notices we’re gone.”

“Stop that!” Cersei snapped. “You have been avoiding me ever since the night of the first feast in Winterfell.”

Jaime mumbled something Bran didn’t hear and he pulled himself up, climbed over the gargoyle, crawled out onto the parapet, and then he moved across to the next gargoyle, right next to the window of the room where they were talking.

“I’ve missed you, brother,” the woman said. “Come here and be quiet.”

Bran sat astride the gargoyle, jumping over it and inching carefully closer to the window. He glanced down at the ground two-dozen feet beneath him. Summer was still pacing anxiously in a courtyard wet from rain. Then he looked in the window. Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling, or so it looked to the nine-year-old. They were both naked and Bran still could not tell who they were.

There were soft, wet sounds, the same sounds he’d once heard when he had caught Jon and Daenerys alone in the godswood. Bran realised they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. Jon and Dany had jumped away startled when Bran had interrupted. That, and they’d been fully dressed. But these two hadn’t noticed their company yet, and they seemed far less chaste than the two youths had been that far-off day.

Bran saw her face then. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognised the Queen. He must have made a noise, because suddenly her eyes opened and she was staring right at him. She screamed.

Everything happened at once then. Cersei pushed Jaime away, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the gargoyle, but he was in too much of a hurry: his hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was falling. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting. Panting and slipping.

Faces appeared in the window above him. The Queen, and now Bran recognised the man beside her: Jaime Lannister.

“He saw us,” Cersei screeched, pale and panting.

“So he did,” Jaime said, a million things going through his mind. Bran’s fingers started to slip and he grabbed the ledge with his other hand. “Take my hand,” he said. “Before you fall.”

Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. Jaime yanked him up to the ledge, very conflicted. He knew what his choices were. If people caught him and Cersei, if the boy told his father… Robert would call for Jaime and Cersei’s head immediately, that much was certain. But how long would it take for anyone to suspect more? For someone to look at Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella differently?

“What are you doing?” Cersei demanded, her hand clutching her chest above her racing heart.

“How old are you, boy?” Jaime asked, pulling Bran to stand on the sill.

“Nine,” Bran answered, shaking with relief.

Jaime looked over at his sister. “The things I do for love,” he said with loathing, his decision made. The Stark boy versus him, Cersei, Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella. A second son, a spare heir versus Jaime’s entire family. He gave Bran a shove. Screaming, the boy went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The black stones of the courtyard rushed up to meet him.

Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon was in no mood to put up with Joffrey’s arrogance, and, in the end, he supposed he'd gotten as much as he could back at the Prince. Any more and the King might stop ignoring. The Queen would certainly openly call for Jon’s and/or Daenerys’ heads. So he stayed back from the main group in the hunt, rather getting acquainted with his lands — it was the first time he was going through his woods and he had to follow the King and his entourage and kill boars. Well, it couldn't be helped.

A few miles away from the bridge, Jon and Robb started racing, as was usual between them. Their direwolves ran around them, seeming to enjoy the same friendly competition. They were passing by a rock formation when Ghost disappeared within one of the caves. Jon called him twice before dismounting and going after him, giving his reins to one of the squires following the group.

“Ghost! Ghost! Come on, boy!” Jon called, following the trail of paw prints to a cave, hearing Robb and Grey Wind follow.

“Jon, you can’t go in there, there’s no light,” Robb said.

Jon hesitated. It was true, and he had no wolf eyes. He couldn’t follow Ghost through the maze-like cave drowned in darkness.

“Milords?” called a squire. “I heard the wolf went in. Would you like light?”

“Yes, thank you!” Jon answered, rushing over to grab a torch.

Robb took a second one and they walked about a mile into the cave until Jon saw a glint in the firelight. At first, he thought it was Ghost’s eyes.

“Is that…?” Robb whispered, shocked. “Jon? Are you seeing this?”

Jon crouched down as his direwolf came closer. His red eyes were shining against the torchlight and Ghost dropped in his hands a rock he was carrying in his mouth. And then, in the distance, a wolf howled.

“Summer!” Jon and Robb exclaimed at once.

Dropping the rock in his pocket, Jon led the way back outside, where their group was assembling, drawn to their disappearance.

“What is it?” Benjen asked. He was the closest, and had even dismounted as well, ready to follow his nephews.

“That’s Summer,” Jon said, getting his horse.

“Something happened to Bran,” Robb said, going up on his saddle as well.

“It’s a wolf,” Tyrek Lannister said. “Wolves howl.”

“Have fun on your hunt, my Lord,” Jon said, turning back to the castle.

Ghost and Grey Wind were a few yards away already, visibly anxious. He and Robb started the trip back, and soon they heard uncle Benjen and their father coming closer, a few others with them. Jon kicked Winterstorm into a fast gallop, racing ahead of the rest, him and the horse a unit no one could keep up with, not even Robb, who rode one of his brothers. The villagers walking by the main road jumped away as the direwolves ran by first, two great blurs of grey and white, nearly invisible to the eye, Winterstorm’s hooves echoing against the cobblestones loudly as Jon galloped close behind.

He broke through the gate, leading the horse to where people were gathering, loud voices unintelligible in his panicked mind. The crowd opened up when they saw him coming, and Jon pulled the horse to a stop as the blood in his veins turned to ice. In the middle of the circle of onlookers, Ghost and Grey Wind joined Summer in guard duty as Bran’s still form lay flat on the ground.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	16. 15 All That Glitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran's fate hangs in the balance while Jon and Daenerys deal with Ghost's discovery and Benjen is surprised by his nephew's ideas.

**Chapter 15**

**All That Glitters**

 

The room was eerily silent except for Summer’s whimpers. Ghost, Grey Wind, Nymeria, and Lady were creating a circle of support for their litter mate, but nothing could console the direwolf. It was past sunset now and Bran had been moved to his room hours ago, being tended to by maesters. Maester Wolkan was the one assigned to the Blessed Island and there was another one, Maester Eikin, that had come with the Royal Family from King’s Landing. Ned had sent a raven for Maester Luwin and Lord Manderly had summoned one of his maesters from New Castle, but that would take a few days yet.

Jon, Dany, Ned, Benjen, Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Sam were in Jon and Dany’s sitting room, waiting for news. Robert was there too, and it seemed like it was his own family who had been hurt. Ayla had stopped by twice already with food and drink, and though she had let it slide for the midday meal (except with Daenerys, whom she had forced to eat), she was now stopping by each one of them and forcing the plates into their hands.

“All due respect, Lord Stark, but it'll do your son no good if you keel over once he's recovered.”

Ned reluctantly agreed, and only after Benjen had insisted as well. Ayla proceeded to take Daenerys to her bedchamber, saying she needed a nap. Jon urged her to go, and she must have been needing to rest because she didn't resist much. It was the hour of the bat when the maesters finally came in — Dany had returned and Sansa and Arya were dozing in the sofas.

“It was a miracle that he didn't break anything,” the maester from King’s Landing said. “But the child will be perfectly fine. He will be awake with the sun!”

Maester Wolkan pursed his lips, which didn't escape Ned. “You don't agree, Maester?” he asked.

“I will remind you that I have been appointed by the Grand Maester himself to come on this journey!” Maester Eikin said, deeply offended.

“Well, I have been given two eyes to see the boys legs were broken,” Maester Wolkan snapped back.

“I wrapped them,” the other replied, waiving a hand dismissively.

Ned had had enough. “I think I would rather hear what Maester Wolkan has to say,” he stated. He had no patience for southern sense of entitlement, there they only worried about the title a person held. The North was smarter in that regard. Eikin was deeply offended but knew better than to protest.

“The boy broke his two legs in the fall, my Lord,” Maester Wolkan said, “but we have wrapped them and there is no reason the bone shouldn't mend. He has also dislocated a shoulder, which we have set into place. It is miraculous, however, that no ribs were broken and that, while he had the wind knocked out of him, his lungs seem intact.”

“What of his head?” Benjen asked.

“I didn't see any fractures as I cleaned him, my Lord, so I believe there has only been a bruise.”

“When will he wake?” Robb asked.

“He sleeps so he can heal. I don't think he will wake with the sun. As hard as it is, the longer he sleeps, the better he heals. But there is one more thing.” Ned, who had almost grown relieved, felt his heart sink again. “We will only be certain when the boy wakes, but it is my strong belief that he broke his back as well. He will never walk again.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Benjen had to nearly wrestle his brother to bed, saying being awake would help nothing. After he was reassured Bran wouldn’t be alone for one moment, Ned relented and allowed to be led to his guest bedroom. He was asleep as soon as he hit the bed, leaving Benjen to take off his boots and cover him with the furs.

Sansa had broken down in tears and Arya was shocked into silence, leaving Ayla to gather the girls and lead them to Sansa’s bedroom, where for the first time in years they slept together to share their strength in their grief. Robb went to his own room and sat in front of the fire, staring into nothingness for at least two more hours before dragging himself to bed.

It was nearing the hour of the wolf when Dany gave up waiting and, wrapping a thick robe around herself, crossed the way to Jon’s study. He was sitting at his desk, staring blindly down to the desktop.

“You should come to bed,” she said softly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“I felt it, Dany,” he said quietly. “When Summer howled, I felt like something terrible had happened to Bran. Robb felt it too. We knew we had to come back.”

“Oh, my love, the bonds you share with those wolves is magic,” she said, coming closer. Jon sat back and allowed her the space to sit on his lap, closing his eyes as she started to play with his hair lovingly. “Summer saw Bran get hurt and he howled to warn the pack. What is it your father always says? About the pack?”

“‘When the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives’,” Jon quoted, sighing.

“It’s a cautionary saying. You’re stronger together. As it turns out, there was nothing you could do, but Jon, you and Robb and the others were back before the maesters could get to the courtyard. If Bran had been in any other kind of danger, you’d have been able to help.”

Jon sighed, understanding her words, but unable to fight his feeling of helplessness. They stayed quiet for a few minutes until Daenerys noticed what Jon had been staring at.

“Is that… where did you find that?”

“Ghost did. He vanished inside a cave, Robb and I followed, and he brought that to me,” Jon said, letting his head fall back against the back of the chair. “I wanted to go investigate, but then Summer howled and we had to come back.”

“What are you going to do?”

“ _We_ are going to wait until we’re well rid of anyone with Baratheon or Lannister attached to their names. And the sooner the better.”

He urged her up and stomped his way out of the room, frustration echoing in each of his footsteps. Dany fell on the chair, delicately extending a hand to the rock lying on the desktop. It was a bit bigger than a man’s fist, black volcanic rock like the rest of the island. Peeking out, a gem Dany had never seen before — and not only had she gotten many as bride’s gifts, Lady Catelyn loved to boast about hers, so Dany did know quite a few. The most striking, serendipitous even, was the colour: blue as frost.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was late morning when the Starks begun to rouse. More conformed with the inevitability that Bran would sleep for a time, Ned asked Maester Wolkan to send a raven to Riverrun and inform Catelyn, promising to keep her apprised of her son’s health. The castle was quiet and mournful and aside from Summer’s howling, there was little other noise.

The next three days followed in quite the same manner, then they all accepted they had to resume their regular duties. Jon called Sam and Benjen to his study, not wanting to bother his father, who was understandably too upset.

“I’ve never seen a gem of this colour,” Sam said, turning the rock in the mid-morning light coming through the window.

“Dany says it’s blue as frost,” Jon said.

Benjen was startled as he picked up the rock from Sam. _Blue as frost. Winter roses. Lyanna. Will you be everywhere around your son now, sister?_ he thought. The man put the rough rock on the table, where they could all see part of the blue gem.

“What do you plan on doing?” Benjen asked his nephew.

“Do you think there can be…” Jon hesitated. “I mean, is this rock something that was lost by another man centuries ago or could there…?”

“This is not a rock that’s been mined, Jon,” Sam said. “It’s crude, never been worked. If a man lost it, he brought it brute from somewhere else.”

“In other words, you think it wasn’t lost,” Jon concluded. “I’ll go back—”

“You will do no such thing,” Benjen said. “You’re the lord of this castle, you have no business going into caves to hunt treasures.”

“Uncle Benjen…”

“My work here is done. I was the castellan and it’s not like we can even finish putting up the defences while the southerners are here. I will go. There is nothing else I have to do,” he said and Jon disliked his deprecating tone immensely.

“You're wrong in that, Uncle. Sam brought me the figures on the army. With the King’s gift we have 2,800 swords, but barely any officers and the soldiers are untrained and not united.”

“A half decent commander can solve that in little time.”

“Well,” Jon smiled, “luckily for me I’ve found a _fully_ decent commander. It would honour me to call _you_ Lord Commander of my army, Uncle.”

Benjen was startled again. He was clearly not expecting as much. “Jon, I'm no commander.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Uncle.”

“I’ve never been in any battles. Well…”

“You fought with Father in Greyjoy’s rebellion did you not?”

“I wasn’t leading anyone then!”

“But you have fought in a war, which is more than most men can say these days. It’s been eight years since the last proper fight this realm has seen. You know your way around a sword, you were trained under Ser Rodrik. Plus, you’ve done quite well in defending this island against Lannister eyes.”

“You honour me, Jon,” Benjen said, blinking back tears.

“You’ve spent half your life looking after me, Uncle. Did you really think I could let you go that easily?” Jon asked with a soft smile.

“So,” said Sam, cutting into the awkward silence that followed, “what did Dany suggest we call this gem ‘blue as frost’?”

“What do you think?” Jon asked with a laugh. “The winter diamond, of course.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla had made quick friends with the cook — a blessing as they had to work together every day — and the butler was quite reserved but at least wasn’t hostile, though he was clearly unhappy at having her there to butt into the running of the household.

“There’s no loitering in me kitchen, m’lord,” she heard the cook say, “get yer meal and be gone with ya.”

“Alright, alright, I'm going,” Benjen laughed. “I’m going to need a pack, though. I leave in the morning and I might spend a few days away from the castle.”

“You’ll get that in the mornin’. Now shoo.”

Benjen left the kitchen through the back door. A while later, Ayla took a bundle of white sheets to extend in the sun and found him the in terrace, sitting with his legs hanging from the ledge.

“I’d have thought the service yard no place for lords,” she said.

“Too many Lannisters inside. I can only stand their superiority for so long,” Benjen said, picking at the pieces of meat he was still eating.

“Can’t wait to see the back of them either,” Ayla said with a snort. “Especially that so called prince. As if. None of them deserve a single courtesy.”

Benjen clenched his jaw. “I don’t know how Jon held back, honestly.”

“Yourself and Lord Stark put caution in his head. But he got his revenge in the end.”

“Near enough.”

“Sometimes that’s all we can have. You have a sad look about yourself, milord, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Just Benjen is fine. What am I, really? Youngest son of a lord, brother to another and now uncle to one.”

“It’s a weak man who sits feeling sorry for himself. You don’t strike me as weak.”

“Tired, more like. What is left to fight for?”

Ayla snorted. “Your sister would tell you to pick up your sword and find out,” she said.

Benjen startled, looking at her with wide eyes. “You… you knew my sister?”

Ayla looked at him frowning. Then she checked around, making sure there were no ears — big or small — to hear. “I was her handmaiden when…” she took a deep breath. “No one could know where she was, so she was so lonely. Especially after _he_ left. We would talk a lot. She’d tell me of her home and how much she loved her family. And… when she knew… once she realised… it was in my arms she put him, me she asked to feed him.”

They were silent for a long moment. “She would hit me with the flat of a sword until I fought back,” Benjen finally said in a thick voice.

“Pretend she is, then.”

“It’s my fault she is dead,” he said and then yelled out, more shocked with the slap than the pain of it.

“She would have hit harder. You might have given her wings, milord, but she is the one who flew away. And there is only one man to blame, the one who caused her to lose her sense and fall down those stairs and the madness that followed. He is upstairs somewhere whoring and eating and drinking.”

Benjen recovered partly from the shock, rubbing his arm. “You have quite the nerve, raising a hand to a lord.”

“Sometimes someone has to have some nerves. I think you forgot yours in your chambers for the day.”

“My guest chambers in my nephew’s castle,” Benjen sighed.

“Right, the whole pitying yourself.”

“What else is there to do?”

“I doubt Lord Starling would be unkind to you.”

“He’s made me Lord Commander of the army.”

“Why exactly are you crying then?”

“He did it out of pity.”

Ayla laughed heartily. “Oh, did he? Or did he do it because he knows of your skill with a blade and he trusts you with his life and safety, and that of his family?” she asked and Benjen blushed. “You want to cry about the lot you were born with, what about his lot? The youngest son of a lord has no birthright other than what his father sees fit to give him and courtesies his father’s name earns him, but what about your nephew’s birthright? What became of it?”

“You’re right,” Benjen said, properly ashamed. “She was right to ask it of you. You have a spirit like hers.”

“You lordlings are too complicated, that’s what I think.”

“Ayla!” called one of the cook assistants. “The Queen demands to know what is being planned for supper. The little lady here says that if Her Grace is unhappy she’ll demand something else.”

“Her Grace, Her Grace,” Ayla complained under her breath. “I'm coming,” she told the girl. “You try dealing with that before you feel sorry for your own sorry ass,” she told Benjen, walking back to the kitchen and leaving him alone in the terrace.

He stared after her. It was easy to see why she would have become friends with Lyanna — his sister was never one to care too much about stations and being alone she would disregard it completely if it gave her some company. The two women were of an age and had similar spirits. It only made him feel lonelier.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It didn’t take Benjen too long to get to the cave Ghost had disappeared into on the day of the hunt. He’d brought a lamp from the castle and used it to light a torch to guide his way. He was nearly two miles in when the first rocks started to gleam against the firelight. Picking it up, most of them were the blue ones Dany had named winter diamonds, but there were others too: yellow, purple, black as pitch, amethyst, orange to violet graded, black with spots of red… then he walked into an opening and the cave opened to the top and he was in a large room with the height of thirty men. Encrusted in its walls, several shining points.

Benjen snorted. “Blessed direwolf,” he muttered under his breath.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon watched Maester Wolkan exit the sitting room, leaving behind Ned desolated and shrunken against the sofa. The maester seemed to be of the opinion that, for the moment, no news was good news, which wasn’t much help to a concerned parent.

“Bran is strong, Father. He will wake up.”

Ned exhaled. “I pray for that every hour.”

“Uncle Benjen told me he had to drag you away from the heart tree.”

“I needed the peace and quiet.”

Jon nodded, knowing arguing wouldn’t help. They were silent for a while until Benjen came in. It was nearly dusk, but the man looked like the sun had just broken the horizon. He placed a satchel on the centre table.

“I got a few samples,” he said with a smile. “But I think you should come and see tomorrow.”

Frowning, Jon opened the satchel, spilling its contents over the table. His chin fell. “There’s all of this down there?” he asked.

Benjen nodded. “That and more. I couldn’t even name some of it. Tywin Lannister will throw a fit, mark my words.”

“Wait, what’s all this?” Ned asked, confused.

“Proof you found me the best lands possible, Father,” Jon said with a quiet voice, still in shock.

“Lands fit for a king,” Benjen said with a smirk. Ned snapped his head up and threw him a dirty look, but he wasn’t vexed. “You are a rich man now, Jon. There are fortunes on top of fortunes in those caves.”

Jon started to smile, but it faded suddenly. “No one must know. No one other than us, Sam, and Dany. I don’t need the Lannisters plotting something. Let them be away first.”

“Probably wise,” Ned said with a sigh. “The Queen was quite loudly against the favours the King bestowed upon you. If she hears about this, she’ll raise a fight. We don’t need her making any more accusations against Daenerys. Not now we know Viserys Targaryen is plotting something.”

“They will find out eventually once Jon starts mining,” Benjen said.

“Yes,” Ned agreed, “but better they find out you discovered mines once we get to the capital. And begin trickling out slowly at least until I know what the situation in Essos looks like.”

Jon agreed with a sigh. He knew his sudden fortune would make too many people — powerful people — nervous. Ned picked up one of the rocks from the table.

“I’ve never seen a gem this shade of blue.”

“Dany has been calling it the winter diamond. Ghost found one of these the day of the hunt,” Jon explained.

“We need a master miner,” Benjen said. “To know what is in there and how to best exploit it.”

“Father is right, Uncle. We need the Lannisters back in King's Landing first.”

“We can make inquiries, though,” Ned said. “Karstark thought he found a mine a few years back in the mountains bordering his lands, but it turns out it was nothing. But the man he called to see it was kicked out of the Westerlands by Lannister so I think he stayed somewhere in the North.”

“A bird is too dangerous,” Benjen said. “I can be in Karhold in five days if I take a ship.”

“Are you sure, Uncle?”

“You named me Lord Commander of your army. I’ll have a bigger and happier army if you have more money to pay them. Besides, very little to do until the southerners get here.”

“I’ll send a raven to Lord Karstark then, warning of your arrival.”

Benjen looked at the sun. “It’s too late to get the supplies ready, but I can leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Leave?” Daenerys asked, coming into the room. “Where are— oh,” she saw the rocks on the table. “Now that is interesting.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	17. 16 Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Royal party leaves the Midnight Fortress after Jon gives Arya an interesting gift and characters return to the fold.

**Chapter 16**

**Returns**

 

Benjen left as he said he could, spent a few days in Karhold, and returned accompanied by Grus — a man in his forties who had worked in Essos and then high in the mines of Casterly Rock before Tywin Lannister said he was too old and decided he could go. Poor Grus was then drawn to the North by Rickard Karstark’s failed discovery and decided to stay nearby and work as a stonemason since there were not many places to go to in Westeros after being dismissed from Lannister mines.

He’d been beyond excited to leave his shop to his apprentices and come inspect the Blessed Island after seeing the winter diamond Benjen had taken with him. According to him, ‘no one’s ever seen this rock, this I promise you, my lord.’

This way, Benjen arrived just in time for the feast. Jon had ordered a big feast to celebrate Arya’s name day and the girl had been delighted until Robert had decided three weeks was enough waiting around and they had to leave, turning the occasion into a farewell feast.

“Someone looks the picture of sadness,” Jon said after Ayla had let him into the room. Arya huffed and turned away. “So is Ayla the one packing your trunk?”

“Apparently I can't fold properly,” Arya complained to the woman’s amusement. “What difference does it make? It’s going to get all messed up anyway.”

“It will fit better in the trunk if it’s properly folded. Come on, little lady, let’s learn.”

Jon chuckled. “Can I interrupt a moment, Ayla?”

The woman smiled, setting down the gown she’d been tidying. “I’ll go check on Lady Starling.”

And she left the room. Arya turned to her brother with a raised brow.

“Close the door,” Jon said. “I have something for you.”

“A name day present?” she asked with a smile, before her face fell. “Or a farewell present?”

Jon sat on the trunk at the end of the bed. “A _name day_ present. Hey, little sister, look at me. It’s a fortnight from here to King's Landing. We’ll see each other plenty.”

“By _boat_ ,” Arya insisted stubbornly.

“Well, good thing I have a ship then,” Jon said laughing. “What about we talk to Father so you can come and visit on my name day and then Dany and I will go and visit on yours? That’s twice a year already.”

“Can we? Really?”

“I don’t see why not.”

They smiled at each other and Arya threw her arms around him, hugging him with all her might.

“I'm going to miss you,” she mumbled into his neck.

“Me too, little sister. Me too.” They were like that for a moment. “I haven’t given you your present yet.”

Arya gasped, letting him go and standing in front of him excitedly. Jon chuckled, reaching for the long and thin package he’d brought all the way from Winterfell. Arya took it and unwrapped it, gasping as its content appeared.

“This is no toy, Arya. What did I tell you is the most important thing about swords?”

“To stick them with the pointy end?” Arya said and they laughed.

“That too,” he chuckled. “This isn’t the wooden swords we’ve been using.”

“It’s so skinny!”

“Agrees with you, don’t you think? It won't cut down a man, but it can poke him full of holes. You’re quick, you have to practise every day to get better.”

“But who am I going to practise with?” Arya grimaced. “I'm going to King's Landing and you're staying here.”

“You’ll find someone. And you know, all the best swords have names.”

Arya smiled now, looking at the thin blade. “Sansa can keep her sewing needles. I’ve got a Needle of my own now.”

“Good name,” Jon said, smiling. “And what’s the most important thing?”

“Don’t tell Sansa!” Arya exclaimed and they both fell in laughter for a moment until Dany came in.

“I see someone liked their present,” she said. “I hope mine is just as satisfying.” Arya smiled, accepting the package. Tears rushed to her eyes. “You already have a sword,” Dany said, “now you need to dress the part.”

Arya slowly passed her hand over the smooth leather of the jerkin and the direwolf head embroidered in white thread.

“Ladies shouldn’t take part in a man’s craft,” she whispered quietly. “The gods don’t like it.”

“Something that was probably decided by a man who didn’t know how to properly wield a sword,” Dany said.

Arya chuckled amidst tears, throwing her arms around both Jon and Dany, locking them into a group hug.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was with bittersweet relief and a heavy heart that Jon and Dany watched the group leaving the following afternoon. Cersei had refused to go back to the capital ‘shaking from side to side in a boat’, so they would return by the Kingsroad. Ned had said he didn’t understand how that was any better than shaking from side to side in a wheelhouse, but as he was no sailor it didn’t bother him. He was also in no hurry to arrive at the capital.

Robb had decided to stay at least a while longer, hoping Bran would wake up, but Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin returned to Winterfell, since the castle couldn’t be left alone for much longer. The Maester and Maester Wolkan had become fast friends and were both confident Bran would wake up when his brain had recovered from the fall.

Benjen had led the master miner down to the caves and the man had disappeared in them, only returning not one hour after the Royal family had gone.

“The underground tunnels are like a maze, my Lord Starling,” Grus reported once he was shown to Jon’s solar, “but it seems like there is quite enough down there. Metals, crystals, and a few gems. I took some other samples of what Lady Starling calls the winter diamond and really couldn’t say it’s been seen somewhere else. I think it’s unique to your mines, my Lord. A new gem, fresh to the market — it will get high prices.”

“Anything not worth bothering with?” Jon asked, analysing the new samples the man had brought.

“Obsidian, my Lord, commonly called dragonglass. It’s decorative, but not much more. Targaryens decorated their weapons with them and it’s said the First Men used it as well but these days you won’t find any buyers. Stannis Baratheon is sitting on a mountain of it in Dragonstone and he knows it’s more money to mine it than the price it sells for.”

“Let’s not bother with it then,” Jon decided. “I would like you to come up with a list of the tools and materials you will need as well as how many men. My adviser will order the tools and circulate the need for labour. Do you accept the position of Master Miner?”

“I’d be honoured to, my Lord.”

“Good. Do you know of anyone with experience to help you manage?”

“I have a few friends whom Lord Lannister dismissed. They’d be glad for the chance. They have the years of experience and the brains to manage. And I know some young men that left the mines to work in the fields after Lord Lannister cut the pay, they might be willing to come back to a mine if the money is right.”

“See to it, then, and come back to Lord Samwell with the list and the figures. We’ll start mining as soon as we’re able.”

Grus nodded and left the room. Jon settled in his chair, going through his business now that there were no guests to entertain — he had to settle farmlands and now that theirs was a major House there were several knights requesting pieces of land to manage in his name.

For a whole moon nothing much happened other than Jon and Daenerys getting the lay of their land and their castle. Sam and Grus were handling the start of the mining business and Benjen was overseeing the structuring of the army as they waited for the men Robert had gifted Jon. Then, a fortnight after Robb’s name day, they were in the Dining Hall having luncheon when Ayla rushed in.

“They just sent word from the lake pier,” she said. “Lady Catelyn is making her way up to the castle with her brother, Lord Edmure.”

“Excuse me?” Jon exclaimed, shocked.

Daenerys sighed. “She’ll be worried about Bran, Jon,” she said and he grimaced. “Show her in, Ayla, and ask Maester Wolkan to come. She’ll want to hear how Lord Bran is from him.”

“I don’t want her here,” Jon muttered.

“She shouldn’t have come,” Robb agreed. “Does she have no shame?”

“She is a mother worried about her son, there is nothing to be ashamed of,” Daenerys said. “She’ll be allowed to see him. Yes, she will!” she insisted when Jon meant to speak. “I have no lost love for her, Jon, but I won't be cruel to keep a sick child from his mother nor a grieving mother from her son.”

“Fine,” Jon agreed with a sigh. “You’re right, of course. But I won't sup with her, she can eat all her meals in her chambers.” He exhaled. “And she may stay until Bran is recovered. But I say it, I want her nowhere near you, Dany. You don’t need to listen to her poison.”

Dany reached for his hand, squeezing it softly and placing it on the swell of her belly in a way she’d discovered soothed him immediately. And, as usual, it worked and Jon relaxed, sitting back on his chair with a soft smile.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn was pacing, wringing her hands as she waited. She was too anxious to care about the room or the castle around her. For near on seven weeks she had done little but worry about Bran. The voyage from Riverrun had been a haze of worrying to her, she hadn’t even noticed it passing other than the annoyance of the several miles that separated her from her son.

“Mother,” Robb said, walking into the room. “You should have warned us you were coming.”

“That boy wouldn’t—”

“My _brother_ has allowed you to stay in his home for as long as Bran needs you.”

“Thank you, son,” Catelyn said.

“Don’t thank me, I said you shouldn’t have come. It was Daenerys who said she wouldn’t keep a mother from her sick son and Jon who allowed you to stay. I wouldn’t have offended them by asking any kindness in your favour.”

Catelyn nodded, deciding to keep quiet. “Could I… could I see Bran?”

“Daenerys sent for the maester. She thought you’d like to talk to him. We’ll see Bran afterwards. Now,” Robb turned to the man in the room. “I believe you’re my uncle.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn had been sitting on Bran’s bedside for a moon now, barely eating or bathing or doing anything other than nursing her son back to health and praying to the Seven. It had been two moons since Ned, Sansa, Arya, and the others had left and nothing had changed with the boy, until he suddenly gasped awake.

Catelyn screamed, jumping onto the bed and hugging her son tightly against her chest. The guards and servants heard the commotion and suddenly Jon, Dany, Robb, Edmure, and Maester Wolkan were crowding the room. The maester’s diagnosis was right — Bran had lost the use of his legs.

“But you’re alive, Bran,” Robb said.

“Yes, that’s the most important,” Jon agreed when Bran didn’t seem to. “Maester Wolkan, would you send a raven to our father? They should be in the crossroads by now, and it’ll be another moon before they reach King's Landing, but he’ll have good news when he arrives.”

“I have a friend in Hayford,” the Maester said. “I could ask if he would send a rider to meet Lord Stark on the Kingsroad.”

“That would be most kind, Maester,” said Daenerys with a smile.

“And tell Ayla we’ll have a feast tonight,” Jon said. “Lord Bran will have the seat of honour and Lady Catelyn will join us.”

Catelyn, who hadn’t yet stopped crying, snapped her head up, but quickly lowered her eyes as soon as they crossed Jon’s. The Maester urged them to leave the little lord to rest and they complied, leaving mother and son alone.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla chuckled as she sorted the silverware for the evening’s feast. “You look sullen,” she said watching as Benjen climbed the stone steps from the service yard. He sat on the bench she was doubled over with a sigh.

“You try to organise ferrying for 1,200 men in only one longship and try not to look sullen,” he said. “I can't wait for the mining to begin so we’ll have money for more ships. _War_ ships.”

“I'm guessing the gossip hasn’t gotten down to the training yard yet if you’re not jumping up and down with happiness,” she said smiling. “Lord Bran woke up.”

“You jest!” Benjen exclaimed, a smile taking over the sullenness. “Sorry,” he amended at her look. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“Maester told everyone to leave the little lord to rest, but Lord Starling ordered a feast. Even invited the witch.”

“You shouldn’t call her that,” he said, though there was no censure in his tone.

“You hate her too.”

“I do. And she is lucky that I love my nieces and nephews too much to really do something against her. It was in respect to Bran I didn’t disappear with the raven to her. She should know what is it like to hold back important messages.”

Ayla frowned for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, she gasped. “The raven! The Prin— I mean, the Lady wondered why no one seemed to know what had happened to her, why your lord brother had ignored her raven. You can't mean…”

“Brandon received it and ignored it. Catelyn hid it from the rest of us and that’s why the rest of the storm happened.”

“Oh, but the— aah!” Ayla had climbed onto a chair to reach a high shelf and, in her anger, lost her balance.

“Be careful!” Benjen called out, managing to catch her before she fell, stabling her on her feet.

Ayla cleared her throat, stepping back. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Not for this,” Benjen said, equally as uncomfortable. “How…” he cleared his throat, looking for a safe subject. “How are your reading lessons going?”

“Well,” she answered, turning back to her work. “Maester Wolkan is a patient and kind teacher.”

“Good, good. I should…” he cleared his throat again. “I should go and find Jon. Tell him the men will start arriving in five days. And… I want to see Bran.”

Ayla closed her eyes and took a deep breath after he all but bolted from the room. Her heart was still rushing in her chest and her arm and waist burned where he’d touched. _Don’t be ridiculous_ , she thought once more. _He’s a lord and you’re a commoner. This can go no farther than a tumble ‘round the sheets_.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned left the council chambers thinking foul words. _6 million gold dragons in debt!_ , he thought again. _Irresponsible, philandering fool!_ He sighed. Robert was showing himself to be a terrible king. _Perhaps good soldiers do make for terrible leaders_ , he pondered. _No, no such rule,_ he reasoned, _you were trained a soldier from birth, and yet you were a responsible lord and warden_.

His headache escalated to a throbbing. He’d need to find Robert later and settle this matter of the tourney. It was ludicrous to have such an extravagance when the realm was six million in debt. It promised to be an awkward conversation after the unpleasantness with the direwolves on the road and the King riding inside the wheelhouse to accommodate his drunken stupor afterwards.

“My Lord,” Jory said as Ned made his way into the Tower of the Hand, “a woman came saying she is to be the girls’ governess. I tried telling her we needed to wait for you but she was quite insistent. I was only able to ask her to wait in your solar, there’s a guard there with her.”

Ned frowned. He hadn’t had time to settle that matter yet, but he went to his solar and his heart nearly failed when he saw her standing by the window. She only smirked when she saw him.

“Thank you, men, I will speak with the lady by myself.” The two guards exchanged a look but left. “Are you insane?” he snapped lowly once they were left alone. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you,” she answered in a light, unconcerned tone. “I had hoped to catch you as the carriage stopped, but they dragged you away first. So I thought I’d wait here.”

“You know what I meant,” Ned grumbled, frustrated.

“Oh, didn’t your guard tell you? I'm the girls’ governess.”

Ned sighed. _Damned stubborn woman_. “I don’t remember deciding that,” he said tersely, looking away. He knew if he faced her he wouldn’t be capable of denying her.

“Would you rather a complete stranger over someone you know and trust?” she asked with a smile, completely uncaring for his dark mood, as if she knew she’d get what she wanted. And Ned knew she probably would.

“Why did you come to the capital?” Ned asked, sighing again. “It’s dangerous, too many people to recognise you.”

She laughed. “Too many years have passed for that and as a friend once told me, nothing fucks you harder than time. Besides, who would believe I would be bold enough? I'm dead, Ned. Dead and buried.”

“And now you want a job in my household,” he said as he gave her an annoyed look. “You must like to play with fire.”

She smiled, walking up to him. “I thought that’s what you loved about me.” And she kissed him.

Ned froze. Her lips still tasted the same, the taste that had haunted his thoughts and dreams for fifteen years. He let himself sink into her embrace, sink into the madness, the pure pleasure of doing something he wanted, until reality came crashing in and he stepped back, however regretfully.

“I'm married.”

“I know,” she conceded, annoyed. “I just had to… I missed you.”

He sighed. “We agreed this was best.”

“We did. Doesn’t change much, does it?”

“Ashara…” he groaned. She’d drive him crazy before the day was over.

She bit his lower lip playfully before steeping away regretfully. “I won't force anything, I swear. Your honour is one of the reasons I love you. To ask you to compromise it is to ask you to be someone else, someone who is not the man I love. But I will stay.”

“It’s lunacy!” Ned insisted. It was a weak protest, and much more because her hair (much lighter than he remembered) shone as the setting sun reflected off it. He was trying really hard to avoid her eyes.

“Why?” she asked, knowing what he was doing.

“People would…”

“I’ve been in the city for over a year. No one has recognised me yet.”

“And when people see you working for me their memories might be jogged!”

“Again, who would believe it? Who would believe such a tale of conspiracy, and then that we were both bold enough? I'm not an eighteen-year-old maiden anymore, Ned. Not even my brother recognised me.”

“Fine,” he gave in. “I need…” Ned exhaled. “You’re right, I need someone I trust to care for my girls. But… are you sure you can do this?”

“They are your daughters, Ned. Of course I can love them,” Ashara said as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“They are mine, but another woman’s.”

“You did what you had to do, Ned. I don’t like it and I doubt I shall ever like Catelyn Tully, but the girls have nothing to do with the tangles we adults find ourselves in. I knew I was sending you to another woman when we parted ways. I knew she would give you children.”

Ned felt a pang in his heart. Ashara was saying what he had always hoped Catelyn would feel towards Jon. But it wasn’t the time to bring it up. He knew her too well not to know she’d be furious. He swallowed thickly.

“What name are you going by these days?”

“I'm a commoner, Ned,” she said with an easy smile and a glint in her purple eyes. “I don’t have a name.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	18. 17 A Wasted Tool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya meet their new governess, and Ned's eldest daughter learns an important lesson. Hoster Tully delves deeper into his daughter's marriage problems while Catelyn deals with new issues up in the Midnight Fortress.

**Chapter 17**

**A Wasted Tool**

 

Ned walked into the dining room to find Jory and his wife awkwardly sitting at the table as Sansa and Arya glared at each other. He bit back a sigh. Would they ever forgive each other?

“Sansa, Arya, I would like to introduce you to Ella. She is to be your new governess. Ella, these are my daughters, Lady Sansa and Lady Arya.” Sansa stood up with a sweet smile, the picture of the perfect lady.

“It is very nice to make your acquaintance, Ella,” she said.

“You as well, my dear,” Ella said. “You are a very courteous young lady. And oh my,” she turned to Arya, “you look the image of a Stark of Winterfell.” Arya stopped glaring, shock clear in her face.

“I have a horsey face,” she said defiantly, as if challenging Ella to stop sucking up. The woman laughed.

“Is that so? Well whoever said so either didn’t know many horses or loved them very much.” Arya felt avenged when Jeyne blushed. “But if you have such a connection, I bet you are a very good rider.”

“It is not a lady’s place to ride,” Arya said, again daring to be defied.

“Oh, too bad then,” Ella said with a smirk, “I suppose that after our sewing lesson tomorrow I shall have to go riding by myself.” Arya’s chin fell open in shock.

“You… I can go riding?”

“You don’t have to, of course. We can always stay inside sewing,” Ella said, shrugging. Arya smiled, and they all started to return to their seats as the plates were brought in.

“One moment,” Ned whispered, awed. “It only took you one moment.”

She smiled. “You have to let them be themselves, Ned. They’re not puppets to move how you wish to move them.”

“I just…”

“What was her answer when your father forbade her to ride astride?” she asked in a near whisper, a raised eyebrow and a knowing look.

 _She stole one of my breeches and went riding anyway_ , Ned thought, not needing to think too hard about whom she meant. _And she was the best of us. Good enough to get Winter when Father finally gave up trying to hold her back. Good enough to unseat those knights at Harenhall._

Ned suppressed a chuckle as she sat down. Perhaps this nonsense between his daughters would finally be over. It proved it wouldn’t be as simple as that when another scuffle broke out between the girls.

“May I be excused?” Sansa asked, standing up.

“But you’ve barely eaten a thing!” Jory said.

“It’s alright,” Ned said, sighing. “War is easier than daughters,” he mumbled.

Ella chuckled as Arya also vanished from the room. “You seem to be doing a superb job in dealing with them.” Ned threw her an unamused glare. She smiled. “They’re upset, N— Lord Stark, and rightly so.”

“How do I fix it?” he asked, exhaling.

“Let them vent, listen to their side of the story. Let them tell you why they are upset and then show them why the other’s done what she did.”

Ned sighed, sadness filling his whole being. She would have been a wonderful mother. If he hadn’t married Catelyn… before that, if he had been half as mad as Lyanna, telling Brandon to fuck off, going south anyway… he shook his head, banishing the thoughts. She probably noticed their direction because her smile had faded as well, her purple eyes glassed over.

“Would you talk to them?” Ned asked.

She sighed. “From what I’ve seen — and I haven’t seen much — Arya won’t hear a word out of my mouth. But Sansa has been moulded into an empty-headed prudish naïve maiden. I’ll talk to her.”

“Better put some things in her head fast,” he grumbled.

“Sending the septa away was a good start,” Ella said, reaching for a buttered slice of bread. “I don’t know the northern gods, Lord Stark, but religion should not be everything that is taught to a girl.”

“I agree, my Lord,” Bertha Cassel said and the two women exchanged a companionable smile.

“I know,” Ned conceded. “But they are completely different from each other. I don’t know what to do.”

“Arya won't be tamed like a wild horse, Lord Stark,” Ella said. “Trying to make her into a proper southern lady will end up following a precedent we would very much rather avoid.”

She stood up, going in the direction Sansa had disappeared to earlier. Ned shivered as her words sunk in. _Promise me, Ned_ , the words echoed again _._ He wouldn’t — couldn’t — allow anything remotely similar to happen to his daughters. His father’s ambitions, his complete disregard for Lyanna’s loud and continued refusal to marry Robert had turned out like it did. He had long ago promised himself he would never force any of his children to be something they weren’t.

He took a deep breath before standing up as well. It was time he spoke to his youngest daughter. Ella was right: Arya was the picture of a Stark of Winterfell. She had the same wolfblood that had made Lyanna and Brandon into wild and free spirits. She would never fit the mould of a dainty southern lady.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Sansa,” Ella called, knocking at the door. “My dear, may I come in?”

There was a mumbled response from within and Ella decided to try her luck and come in anyway. The girl was curled up in her bed, hugging a pillow tight to her chest.

“I don't want to see anyone!” Sansa attempted an angry tone. The woman saw through it all too easily.

“I rather think you do. Come, I know we just met, but I’m here to help. You don’t look angry with your sister. What is it?”

“I am angry with her! She is the reason Lady is dead! She was the sweetest of them, the best behaved, and Arya had to go and behave like a beast and now Lady is dead.”

Ella blinked in confusion. “You’re going to have to tell me the story from the beginning, my dear.” Sighing, Sansa sat up, still hugging the pillow, looking every bit as young as her two-and-ten years, and told the tale of an arrogant prince, a defiant little sister, a protective direwolf, and, at the end, a cold queen who called for the head of an innocent to satisfy her whims. “I will say it again, Sansa. You’re not angry with Arya, not really. Deep down you know she was right, and you yourself just told me Arya spoke up in defence of Lady. So tell me, what is it?”

“Princes are supposed to be kind and gentle,” Sansa said in a whisper, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

“And now you see that life isn’t a song. Is that it?”

The girl shrugged. “The Prince… he said we’re to be married one day, that my lord father is only waiting for the right moment to announce it. And when we are married, then I will be his princess and I will do what he bids and I will bear him heirs.”

“If that is to be the case, you would be the mother of the future king.”

“I… Joffrey is weak and coward and… I don't want to marry him!” Sansa confessed, breaking down in tears. Ella sat on the bed, drawing the sobbing girl into her arms. “He is… he is cruel! He… he attacked Dany! And he kept calling Jon a bastard even when he was made Lord Starling. And he… he and the Queen… she told me they wouldn't hurt Arya or the butcher’s boy if I said Arya and Nymeria attacked Joffrey but they lied! They lied, they murdered the butcher’s boy and they wanted to hurt Nymeria, but Arya was smart to send her away so they k–killed Lady! And Lady was innocent! And the Queen wanted her pelt to gloat!”

And she succumbed to sobs. Ella held her, caressing her hair as the little girl cried out all her sorrows. When Sansa finally recovered and sat up, Ella smiled softly at her.

“So, are you angry with your sister?”

“I'm angry she wanted to play with the boy and she ruined everything!”

“Did she?” Ella asked and Sansa lowered her eyes. “Arya was having fun with a friend away from the others. So I ask you: who ruined everything?”

Sansa cleaned the last tears off her face and Ella smiled as the girl looked up with a determined gleam in her eyes.

“Joffrey. Joffrey and Cersei. They lied and they killed Lady.”

“And what did Arya do?”

“She told the truth,” Sansa confessed. “She knew she might be punished for playing with a lowborn and for attacking the Prince, but she told the truth.”

“And she tried to defend Lady.”

“And she tried to defend Lady,” Sansa agreed. “I lied. I said what the Queen wanted me to say.”

“You did. And?”

“And Father… Father knew the Queen would get what she wanted. He only… he stepped in so Lady wouldn’t suffer.”

“What are you going to do?” Ella asked with a soft smile.

“Apologise,” Sansa said and there was steel in her voice. “Apologise to Arya and Father for lying.”

“And?”

“And Joffrey better stay away from me.”

Ella smiled. Sansa was a child, but she was growing up. And now, she would no longer be easy prey to Cersei’s machinations. King's Landing was no place for children or songs or dreams. Sansa had learnt it the hard way, but she seemed well on her way of not letting it happen again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sansa waited until Arya and Jeyne were out of the room before turning to Ella.

“I... I wanted to thank you. For helping and counselling me last night.”

“Not for this, my dear. That is part of my job,” Ella said kindly and Sansa smiled timidly, biting her lower lip. “Sansa, you may ask me anything,” the woman insisted.

“Are you... you are still going to ride with Arya, aren't you?” she asked and Ella nodded. “Could I... could I maybe come with you?”

Ella only smiled, standing up and reaching into one of the drawers. Sansa stared at the leather breeches unsure.

“You don't have to wear them if you don't want to, but they do make it easier to ride.”

“Father said aunt Lyanna was a great rider, and King Robert loved her. Dany rides astride, and Jon encourages her. Maybe... maybe a lady can ride.”

“How about you try it once? Then you can really decide what you want, without thinking too much about what others would do.”

Sansa smiled shyly and nodded. Later, when Ella and Arya met in the courtyard, there were three saddled horses waiting for them, but Arya didn't ask anything. Until Sansa walked out, her hair carefully braided down her back. She looked very uncomfortable in her breeches and tunic. Arya let her mouth fall open in shock and stared at her sister as if she were an exotic creature from Sothoryos.

“First lesson,” Arya said after a moment and Sansa watched her warily. “Know your horse.”

Ella smiled as she watched Arya take Sansa to the horse the stable boy had called the sweetest and introduce them. Sansa hesitantly touched the animal’s neck, wary of the big teeth. After they had mounted and gone around the palace gardens for about two hours, they returned to the courtyard and Sansa smiled again, patting her horse’s neck.

“I think I'll join you again tomorrow, if you don't mind.”

“As long as you're not stupid,” Arya needled.

Sansa only blushed and turned her attention back to the horse.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Hoster Tully was no fool. He knew very well that Ned Stark wouldn’t have dared to send Catelyn back to her father unless she had done something truly unforgivable. He wasn’t the sort to break his vows, regardless of the bastard he’d brought home from the war. And if the honourable Lord of Winterfell was tired of his wife, well, he was on his way to the capital, all he needed to do was leave Catelyn behind as he established his new household in King's Landing.

No, Hoster knew there was more to the story than his daughter’s simple ‘I’ve made him angry’. He was not going to be hasty, like his son, and raise his banners while he wasn’t sure what this more was. Lord Paramount of the Riverlands he might be, but that was feasible against the strength of the North. The biggest kingdom, which had stood unconquered for millennia and only bent the knee to a dragon. Not to mention that the North stood unquestionably behind House Stark while the Riverlands had been irremediably fractured since the Rebellion. Also, he would be the laughing stock of the realm if he waged war for a crying daughter. And there was also the business of Ned Stark being Hand of the King — Robert Baratheon would obviously stand by his friend and the consequences to House Tully would be terrible.

But he also couldn’t do nothing. He needed to get to the truth, which Catelyn didn’t seem eager to reveal. But even if she did, what kind of spineless father would he be if he didn’t try to salvage his daughter’s reputation?

For this reason, Hoster had decided a conversation between himself and Ned Stark would be necessary. The Lord Hand was travelling south in the retinue of the King, so it wouldn’t be the best idea to request a meeting somewhere in the Riverlands, Maidenpool or Harenhall for instance. Not only receiving such an expensive groups of guests with little warning might be a hardship his bannerman wouldn’t take kindly to, but also such illustrious presence would certainly be prejudicial to Hoster himself.

So the Lord of Riverrun had his maester calculate the date of the expected arrival of Eddard Stark in his new office and calculate Hoster’s own retinue to arrive at the capital a few days later. He was received at the Tower of the Hand the day after his arrival by a very gruffly looking guard.

“Where are your manners, Desmond?” asked a woman walking into the room. She had honey coloured hair, fair skin, and purple eyes. “Go tell the Lord Hand he has a visitor.” The guard bowed his head and left the room. “I am sorry, Lord Tully, the road was unkind on our men and we are still recovering. Might I offer you some refreshment?”

As he was wearing the Tully sigil on his chest and had arrived on a litter with Tully banners, he wasn't surprised the woman knew who he was.

“And who are you?” he asked when she didn't identify herself.

“Oh, I'm sorry, my lord. My name is Ella, I'm the little ladies’ governess.”

“I see,” Hoster said, displeased. Catelyn was sent back to his home with the septa and Ned Stark went ahead and hired a nobody woman instead of the Faith. Whatever his daughter had done, she had alienated her husband and children from the gods. “And what do you teach my granddaughters?”

“What my lord bids me to teach them,” Ella answered simply.

Hoster saw he would get no other answer from her. She hadn't given a family name, but she carried herself with the poise of a great lady. Perhaps a bastard? A former kept woman? He put the thought away and was soon led to the Lord’s solar.

“Lord Tully,” Ned greeted him, standing up. “This is a surprise.”

“An unwelcome one, I imagine.”

“Considering the terms of my parting with your daughter I can’t say I expect this to be the most pleasant of conversations.”

“No, you shouldn’t. It is about my daughter I wish to speak. The reason why you have decided to return her to my home.”

“I am sure you have spoken with Catelyn.”

“I would like to hear your side of the story,” Hoster said, unwilling to admit he hadn’t been able to coax the truth from his daughter.

“With all due respect, Lord Tully, but if Catelyn had told you the truth you wouldn’t have come asking for my side of the story. I would understand you coming wishing to restore Catelyn to her position, but never to hear my side.”

Hoster felt cold spreading down his spine. What in the gods’ names had Catelyn done? “I would like to hear it all the same,” he insisted.

Ned sighed. “I told Catelyn to tell you. I don't know whether to be glad she finally realised her actions were something to be ashamed of or to be worried she believes them to be so inconsequential as to not merit disclosure.”

“Did she betray you? Break her vows?”

By the man’s raised eyebrow Ned knew he was being goaded into saying something a man with a bastard son had no moral to say. But he didn’t let it get to him, only started the story. When he was done, Hoster had to admit he was right. He wouldn’t have come asking for Ned Stark’s side of the story if Catelyn had confessed her sins.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Knowing Bran wouldn’t _walk_ out of his bed, Maester Wolkan had spent the past two and a half moons thinking on how to help, conferring with Maester Luwin while he’d been about and later by correspondence. The result had been a wheeled chair to help with the boy’s mobility while in the same floor and a saddle that was waiting for Bran to recover some strength before being put to the test.

The boy had been initially upset and irritable, but Jon and Robb coaxed him out of bed and Dany and Ayla pampered him. Catelyn had been of the opinion that Bran should stay in bed until he was fully recovered but she was quickly overruled. Bran only seemed to get stronger when he went out and moody when he was locked in, so Maester Wolkan had prescribed exercise and outside air and Jon and Robb had been more than happy to oblige.

Robb pushed Bran up to his room after supper that night. The boy had passed out during the dessert course, too exhausted after spending the whole of the afternoon testing his new saddle. As usual, Catelyn was inside, curled up in the chair next to the bed.

“Mother,” Robb said quietly after he put Bran to sleep. “We must finish our conversation from earlier.”

“Bran still needs me,” Catelyn said and Robb sighed.

“Bran is perfectly fine. Well, as fine as he can be. I’m planning our return to Winterfell, you _will_ leave for Riverrun then or earlier. I was hoping we would not have to quarrel.”

“Surely your father wouldn’t keep me from Bran now! Not when he needs me, when the boy—”

“Jon, Mother! His name is Jon and he is my _brother_!” Robb exclaimed, then stepped away to control himself. Yelling would only wake Bran up. “And you’re right, he is no longer in Winterfell, but that was not the only reason—” he looked down the window. “Fire! There’s… one of the towers is on fire! I’ll… I’ll go help.” And without further ado he ran out of the room and Catelyn stood up to look out the window.

“You’re no’ supposed to be ‘ere,” said a voice from behind her, making her turn and gasp. “No one’s supposed to be ‘ere.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn traversed the corridors of the castle in a rush. There were more guards around, two escorting her, and Robb had even sent Grey Wind. After what Summer had done the night before, she would never again complain about the direwolves or how her children and the boy allowed them free run of the castle.

She had seen the door many times before, coming and going from Bran’s room, but she’d never been to the Lord’s chambers. There were four guards at the door and the increased security irked her in equal measure to soothing her. Inside, she couldn’t help the needle of jealousy when she saw the sitting room. She faltered a step, though, when she saw the white wolf sitting in front of a door in a clear guarding position. His red eyes were deeply judgemental and cold, as if he knew precisely the nature of the relationship between Catelyn and his master.

Grey Wind left her side, going to stand by the door, and after one last human-like glare, Ghost stood and turned, waiting for one of the guards to open the door and crossing it first. Catelyn followed into the room cautiously.

There was a beautiful and grand desk across the room from the door, where the boy sat, the embodiment of his title. His princess wife sat next to him and Robb, Sam, and Benjen sat on chairs across the desk. They all stood to greet her, but as they resumed their seats, no chair was offered to Catelyn. Given Daenerys’ smirk, the plot had been of her making.

“Mother, how are your hands?” Robb asked.

“Healing,” she said. “The wounds are worth their price.” They all nodded. Catelyn’s wounds were what delayed the catspaw enough for Summer to jump up and tear the man’s throat out, therefore they’re what had saved Bran’s — and Catelyn’s — lives. “Why am I here?” she asked, deciding beating around the bush would help no one.

“We recovered the assassin’s dagger,” Benjen said. “It’s Valyrian steel and dragon bone. A fancy weapon for a lord, let alone a catspaw.”

“Surely whoever hired him must have given him the weapon.”

“Who would arm a low-life killer with his own weapon?” asked Daenerys. “The chances of the man being caught were very high.”

“Perhaps the knife was payment for the deed,” Catelyn suggested.

“Not impossible,” Jon said. “But a knife like this is highly recognisable. And expensive. Whoever had this, and whoever was powerful enough to have a secret worth killing a son of a Great House for must have enough gold to pay the man without taking such a risk.”

“A secret?” Catelyn asked.

“Bran might not have been used to these towers, Mother,” Robb answered, “but he was very good at climbing. He was sure-footed, he’d never faltered before. It might have gone unquestioned before, but no one would have wasted money or time sending an assassin after him unless he had seen something he was not supposed to have seen. When he survived his fall, the assassin would be needed to silence him.”

“But he doesn’t remember anything!” Catelyn exclaimed.

“It wouldn’t matter,” Benjen said. “There’s always the chance he’s pretending he doesn’t remember or he will come to remember later. And I think we all have our suspicions.”

Jon sighed. “I agree with you, Uncle, and after what Joffrey’s done I wouldn’t put anything past them. But we can’t go around accusing anyone without proof, much less the Queen.”

“Jaime Lannister didn’t join us on the hunt, brother,” Robb pointed out.

“Yes, but he didn’t join any of the hunts since Winterfell,” Sam said. “I hate to say this, but this behaviour is not suspicious and, even if it were, it’s too weak an argument.”

“Father must be told,” Robb said with clear frustration.

“We can't trust a raven,” Catelyn said and everyone seemed to agree. “I can go to King's Landing.”

“It would be too suspicious,” Benjen said.

“I don’t see how,” she argued. “I haven’t seen my daughters in months.”

“And when Ned—” Benjen started to argue, but Robb cut him off.

“By now everyone knows you’re away, Mother. And even if not, you wouldn’t have gone to the capital with Father, you _would_ be away from the girls.”

Sam and Jon exchanged a look. “I’ll go,” the latter said. “I have business in the capital, I have to rally more workers for the mines, buy tools, hire smiths and jewellers, and I have to show them the winter diamond, raise interest. No one will find it suspicious if I come.”

“I thought Sam was going for that,” Daenerys complained. Jon blushed deeply. “You were already going to go too, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t want to,” he confessed. “But I need to raise interest, show them how unique the gem is. Otherwise it won't get as high a price. And now it really does need to be me.”

Dany pursed her lips but didn’t say anything else. Catelyn clenched her jaw, burning in curiosity to ask. Did she hear right? Mines? Winter diamond? It was clearly a new gem, if the— if _Lord Starling_ had to raise interest for it.

The group dispersed shortly after, having decided Jon would depart as soon as the ship, crew, and supplies were ready, and Sam was to go with him. Catelyn went back to her room, seeing as Bran was riding outside with a retinue of guards, and she didn’t want to give them any cause to send her away. The longer she stayed, the longer she was beside her sons and the longer she avoided her father’s displeasure at her hidden departure.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon walked into the bathing room to find his wife facing out the window as Doreah moved about filling the pool with water from one of the hot springs that passed beneath the castle. The underground lake was certainly warmed by the volcano to have such hot water, and it made it easier to bathe.

“Are you angry?” he asked quietly, stepping up next to her. She sighed, leaning back and allowing him to hug her from behind.

“I’ve been angrier,” she admitted. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know. I don’t want to leave you either. I wish you could come, but not only I don’t think we should risk the baby, I would also rest easier knowing you’re nowhere within punching distance of Cersei or Joffrey. Especially if I’m to enrage them further by showing our new fortune.”

“I know, I know,” Dany agreed, sighing deeply.

Jon put one hand delicately over her swollen belly. She was huge, even more so because she was so petite, but Ayla said everything was going perfectly well. There was a kick and Dany moved his hand so he could feel it.

“The kicking is getting stronger,” he said with a smile.

“Well, the child is growing in there and space is running out.”

Jon turned her around and kneeled in front of her. Understanding what he was going to do, Dany opened her robe, letting the fabric fall to the floor, exposing her body. Jon chuckled at the visible sign of their child moving and kissed the protruding foot.

“Hey, little one, you think you can wait another moon for your papa to come back before you decide to meet the world?” The kicking got stronger in response.

“I think you’d be more persuasive in song,” Dany said, smiling.

“I highly doubt that,” Jon grumbled, feeling the kicking, “I have a terrible voice.”

“We disagree,” Dany complained.

“The pool is ready, my Lady,” Doreah said.

“Thank you, you’re dismissed,” Dany said, and the handmaiden left quickly. “Join me?” she asked.

Jon smiled. “What do you think I came here for?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Map of Westeros:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers!
> 
> First of all, thank you for reading and the support! 
> 
> Secondly, as it came up in several comments: yes, Ashara is alive and she'll be living in the Tower of the Hand. Yes, she and Ned love each other. No, there'll be no adultery.  
> The truth about how she survived will be revealed in due course, but it's been said it was a plan she and Ned worked out together.  
> Another question that came up was regarding Arthur Dayne -- read and see ;P
> 
> Thirdly: I realise belatedly that I never posted the promised map of where precisely is the Blessed Island. That came up in Chapter 12 but I didn't know how to add an image and I was super busy then and after I forgot *blushes in shame*. I've looked it up now and I’ve just revived my dead Tumblr and linked the image :) My user name is the same, fairytalelovr
> 
> Now for the bribe part of this: kudos and comments do inspire writing :D


	19. 18 Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys gives her husband a parting gift, before Jon arrives in King's Landing and reunites with his sisters and father. Wary of their new visitor, Cersei manipulates an inquisition and the truth about the dagger comes from an unexpected source, which gives Ned a worry he hadn't previously imagined.

**Chapter 18**

**Inheritance**

 

Daenerys walked into Jon’s dressing room, where he and Patrik moved about packing for the trip.

“Patrik, may I have a moment with my lord husband?”

“Of course, milady,” the servant said and left the room.

“What is that?” Jon asked, nodding towards the package she carried.

“Well, Ayla and I were working on something and then after the jeweller came, I ordered a little something.”

“That sounds expensive,” Jon said, though he was smiling and there was no censure in his voice. Dany laughed.

“Well, you spoil me with enough gifts. I thought it was time I gave back,” she said, setting the package atop a table.

“You know, I remember a scene like this.”

“Our first kiss,” Dany said fondly. “It’s much nicer to not be freezing this time around.”

Jon laughed as he opened the package, and his sense of _déjà vu_ was increased. It was a sword belt complete with a scabbard, his _first_ sword belt, the one she’d given him on his fourteenth name day, the day of their first kiss, but this time it was no longer plain leather, there were winter roses embroidered on it. And there was a sword encased in the scabbard.

“Is that…?”

“Well, we had something to embroider on it this time. And I figured that if your purpose is to raise interest in the winter diamond, you should have a bigger sample than what you’re taking for Sansa and Arya. I talked with the armourer and he made you a new sword and then he worked with the jeweller to have the gem carved into a winter rose and set into the pommel. According to the jeweller, a rock this size and worked to that format will show people the gem is malleable but extremely resistant. It will increase the value greatly.”

“Look at you,” Jon said with a huge smile, “a proper business woman!”

“Why?” Dany played along. “Did you think I was only good to sit by the fire knitting?”

Jon threw his head back in loud laughter and he hugged her as tightly as her huge baby bump allowed.

“Gods forbid. You’d be utterly boring. I prefer you much like this: my fierce dragon princess.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon bit back a laugh as he watched Sam come up on deck of the _Lady Daenerys_. He was still pale and even looked a bit thinner — puking and not eating for twelve days had clearly taken its toll on him.

“I can see you laughing inside,” Sam grumbled.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Jon said, truly apologetic, “but you do look funny.”

“You’re a terrible friend.”

“We’ll get there tomorrow morning, the captain just told me.”

“Thank the gods. If you don’t mind, I won’t make too many trips outside home. I mean,” Sam blushed and cleared his throat, “outside of your lands.”

“Home, Sam,” Jon said with a smile, his heart warming at the thought that his castle could be home. “I may be lord of the lands, but it’s _our_ home.”

They both smiled. For two people who had never truly belonged in the places they had lived in, regardless of the family surrounding them, the feeling of home was sweet and heart-warming. And that gave Jon an idea.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon had to admit that the capital was quite impressive, the tall structure of the Red Keep growing above the rest as they made their way to the gate. Sam’s cheeks were even flushed, a smile spread across his face now that they were in dry land. Though how could anyone withstand this smell was beyond him.

“Any idea how many people live here?” Jon asked one of his guards.

“I’d say about a half-million, my Lord,” Rellos, the Captain of the Guard, said. “That’s the last census I saw and I doubt the number’s grown too much in the past two years.”

Jon nodded, deep in thought. Uncle Benjen had selected him to accompany Jon because the man had served in the City Watch and would therefore be familiar with the layout of King’s Landing.

“That’s a whole lot of people, all crammed into that. Why would anyone want to live like that?” he asked.

“There’s more work in the city, my Lord,” the guard answered with a small shrug. “More safety too.”

“Then why did you leave?” Sam asked, ever curious. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I was paid to patrol the city and protect the citizens. But things get dangerous for those of us who don’t want to get paid to close our eyes.”

Jon snorted, understanding what went unsaid. “Anyone offers that while in my employ, come to me. I won’t tolerate dishonesty and I will reward loyalty,” he said to all the five surrounding him.

The men nodded, and Jon could see the growing respect in their eyes. He still found it weird, to have men escorting him, men _obeying_ him, but he supposed there was nothing to be done to help it. He was shocked to see their surroundings once they crossed the Mud Gate. He’d seen poverty, especially near the time of summer snows, but this… this was pure misery.

“And this is not even Flea Bottom, my Lord,” Rellos said. “The city’s slum.”

Jon watched a few children huddled around the trashcan of a tavern. They all had the hungry look he’d seen sometimes in the mirror, when Lady Catelyn would block his access to the kitchens. Theirs were obviously deeper, more intense.

“Leeds, buy them each a meal, please,” he told the guard next to Sam. The man nodded and pulled his horse from the formation to go speak to the tavern keeper.

“Be careful with those, my Lord,” Rellos cautioned. “You start being too kind and you’ll attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“I won’t see a child starving,” Jon stated strongly. “I know their pain, and I will help it as much as I can.” None of the guards said anything.

“To the Tower of the Hand, then, my Lord?” Rellos asked.

“Yes. My lord father will either be there or at Court, and I’d rather not interrupt his work so suddenly.”

Rellos nodded, though his half smile showed he understood the real reason. “I heard they’ll be holding a tournament in honour of your lord father’s appointment as Hand, my Lord. I think we made it just in time.”

“I’ll bet my lord father loved that,” Jon said with a chuckle.

They continued in relative silence across the city and up Aegon’s High Hill. Rellos’ knowledge proved to be invaluable, even if they could see the Red Keep from afar, as the guard took them straight to the Tower of the Hand.

“Lord Stark is attending a Small Council meeting, my Lord,” said Jory Cassel when they dismounted. “Your sisters are in the gardens with the Queen. Perhaps you should wash before going to rescue them.”

Jon snorted, but took the advice anyway. From a distance, he saw that while Sansa seemed somewhat interested in what Cersei Lannister was saying, Arya was only very poorly disguising her boredom. As she was looking around the gardens, she was the first one to see their approach.

“Jon!” she exclaimed, jumping out of her chair and running over. Jon caught her and lifted her into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I come visit my two beautiful sisters?”

“Yes, please!” Arya laughed. “But Father never said anything!”

“I wanted to make a surprise.”

“So secretive, Lord Starling. People might wonder why,” Cersei said, having walked over with Sansa and a handful of women.

“Not secretive at all, Your Grace, or I wouldn’t have come in a ship flying my banners and walked down to the palace gardens to meet with the Queen upon arrival. I merely found myself with business to attend to in the capital.”

Cersei smiled falsely. “You just never mentioned a visit. We did part ways just a few moon-turns ago.”

“Some business came up once I turned my attention to my lands. I could hardly waste time inspecting my keep when hosting the Royal family. You are more deserving of company.”

Cersei lost her smile at the needling. “Well, I wish you good fortune on your business. I should leave you to talk. Doubtless you will rush back north to your wife. We can resume our tour later, girls. We will have more than enough time.”

The Queen rushed away, her handmaidens following closely. Jon put Arya down and Sansa came up to hug him.

“Is it true or do you have some other reason to be here?” she asked.

“You’re too smart,” Jon chuckled. “Nothing for you girls to concern yourselves with.”

“And how is Bran?” Arya asked. “We got Robb’s raven he woke up!”

“Let your brother breathe, girls,” Ella said fondly. “Why don’t we go back to the Tower before you can resume your pestering?”

“I agree,” Jon chuckled. “What’s with the interrogation, huh? Come on, I’ve been on a ship for a fortnight. I’m starving for a good meal and decent company.”

They went back to the Tower, where the servants had already laid out luncheon. They sat down to eat and Jon took the boxes Rellos had brought from his things. “Found some interesting things in my lands, so I got you two a gift.”

“Father said you found mines,” said Sansa, accepting her box with a smile.

“I did. And I hope you will like it. There’s two in there, one is for your name day.”

Sansa smiled and opened the box, gasping as she saw inside. “Jon! They’re beautiful!” she stood up, crossed the table and hugged him strongly.

“I thought you’d like something you can wear every day better than a dainty necklace that’s bound to stay in a cupboard for years.” Jon said and she laughed, taking the first necklace out. It was made of silver and the pendant was Sansa’s favourite dragonfly. “But then living in Court you’d need the dainty necklace anyway.” The girl smiled as she fingered the bigger necklace — that one would only be suitable for balls and special occasions.

“What gem is this?” she asked. “I don’t think I ever saw or heard of it!”

“The miner and jeweller I hired don’t know either,” said Jon, standing up to help her clasp the dragonfly necklace on, “but Dany thought we should call it the winter diamond.”

“Well,” Arya laughed, “it does have the same colour of winter roses, which are your sigil after all.” Jon chuckled, giving Arya her box. She narrowed her eyes.

“I know you don’t care for jewellery, but you are living in Court now. You should dress the part a little bit.”

She sighed and opened the box, fighting back a smile, but finally giving in to the blue-eyed silver direwolf. “Only you could get me to wear jewellery.”

“I promise not to tell anyone,” Jon laughed.

After luncheon, Ella called Sansa to her embroidering lesson, but Arya refused to go. Jon raised an eyebrow when the woman didn’t insist.

“Father told her not to force me,” Arya explained. “He still thinks I’ll marry a lord and have his children, but at least he lets me— oh! I never told you! He let me keep Needle!”

“He did?”

“He came to my room when I was practising,” Arya explained blushing. “But he let me keep it, and said that if I have a sword I should know how to use it. He hired a tutor. A Bravoosi man, Syrio Forel, and he’s teaching me the water dance.”

“Really? That I’d like to see.”

Arya pulled him by the hand. “Come on, we can practise before Father comes home!”

Jon laughed, letting his sister lead them to an open terrace and taking the wooden practise sword from her hand.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned frowned as he walked into the Tower of the Hand that evening. There was a raucous of laughter and dull thuds that indicated Arya was practising with her wooden swords. However, the tutor was not due today and he could hear Sansa laughing — but why would Sansa be watching Arya’s lesson? Because he highly doubted Sansa was _practising_ with Arya.

“I yield, I yield, I yield!” his youngest daughter yelled, then laughed loudly.

Curious, Ned quickly climbed the stairs and smiled even as he was surprised. Jon was tickling Arya, who was trying to escape his hug. Sansa, Sam, and Ella sat nearby, laughing and clapping. Warmth filled the Lord’s heart.

“So it seems we have a guest!” he said, drawing attention to himself.

Arya ran to him, hugging him, beyond excited. Ned hadn’t seen her this happy since the day she’d gotten Nymeria, not even when he had hired her tutor, and he somehow felt as if the madness that had surrounded his family for months now had finally lifted.

“Sorry, Father,” Jon said, “we got carried away.”

“Nonsense,” Ned said, setting Arya down. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen so many smiles. I’d forgotten how nice it is.”

“Look what Jon gave me, Father!” said Sansa, coming closer and pointing to her necklace.

Ned smiled. “Wow! I hope you thanked your brother.”

“Of course I did,” Sansa said a bit offended.

“And I got this one,” said Arya, pointing her own necklace. “Jon says Dany named the gem the winter diamond.”

“It’s a beautiful gem,” Ned chuckled. “Go get washed up for supper, then, girls.” He waited until they were gone. “While I’m very glad of the company, I doubt you came all the way here just to give them those necklaces.” Ned said as he and Jon hugged.

“I wish I could say yes,” Jon said, sneaking a look around.

“I’ll go check on the girls,” Ella said, taking the hint.

Ned exhaled as Jon pulled the dagger from his pocket, explaining where he’d gotten it.

“This is Valyrian steel,” Ned said, looking at the blade.

“Yes, and it is as sharp as Ice,” Jon replied. “It cut Lady Catelyn’s fingers nearly to the bone.”

Ned looked up from the dagger. “Lady… what was Catelyn doing there? _How_ did she get there?”

“Robb didn’t tell you?” Jon asked, frowning, and Ned shook his head. “Odd… I saw him writing a raven. The bird must have gotten lost.”

“What is Catelyn doing at the Midnight Fortress?”

“She was worried about Bran, Father. Dany let her stay.”

Ned clenched his jaw. “Daenerys is most magnanimous. But I’ll send a raven, tell your brother to send her back to Riverrun. She’s seen Bran, she has no more business in your home. Not after everything she’s done.”

“Well, you won't hear me complaining,” Jon muttered. “In any case, we didn’t trust ravens or riders to bring this or our words. Robb wanted to come, but I thought it would be better if I did.”

“Whose dagger is this?”

“Well, that’s a dagger I haven’t seen in a while,” said a new voice.

Ned and Jon turned to the entrance. “Ser Barristan,” Ned greeted. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m sorry to intrude, Lord Stark, but your men said I could find you here. King Robert sent me. Queen Cersei told him of Lord Starling’s arrival and His Grace said he’d like to repay the hospitality in the Midnight Fortress. He insists you, Lord Starling, and your daughters come to supper tonight.”

“We would be delighted,” Ned said, though he wished he could say otherwise.

Jon held back his groan, aware there was no way to refuse it. “You said you know who this dagger belongs to, Ser…?”

“Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I don’t know whom it belongs to currently, or whom it belonged to just before you got it, Lord Starling, but I know who owned it originally. How many times did I not see it on his belt, I wonder.”

“Who?” Jon insisted, interrupting the reverie. _I’m speaking to Barristan, the Bold,_ his inner child thought, _and he knows who I am!_

“Rhaegar Targaryen” the knight said and Ned froze. “It was his. He had it with him when he rode into battle at the Trident. After he told me… well, it doesn’t matter what he said, it’s… I went to look, after the Prince fell, but I didn’t find it. Someone must have gotten to it before me. It _is_ Valyrian steel.” The man looked at the blade. “If you’ll forgive my curiosity, my Lord, but where did you—?”

“Thank you for the information and the invitation, Ser Barristan,” Ned said, his panic rising. He needed to end the conversation. Now. “Jon, show him out as I go tell your sisters of our change in plans.”

“Lord Stark,” Ser Barristan called, looking at Jon, “my Prince told me what was in the Tower. I have always known.”

“Your Prince, you say?” Ned clenched his jaw, his anxiety taking over again. _No, it can’t be. He wouldn’t have kept quiet. He wouldn’t have bent the knee to Robert if he knew the heir…_ he stopped himself again.

“I vowed to serve who sits on the Iron Throne,” Barristan lowered his voice. “Doesn’t change whom I think of as my king. Now I ask you to trust me, as I have trusted you for the past sixteen years.”

Ned felt his heart falter. He had been so consumed with grief and worry over those who _were_ at the Tower of Joy that he had never even stopped to think about who Rhaegar might have told. Jon frowned, feeling like he was missing a key part of the conversation.

“Lord Starling, where did you find the dagger?” Barristan insisted.

Ned nodded, and Jon felt even more confused as he spoke. “Someone was sent to kill my little brother. The knife was found with the catspaw’s corpse.”

Barristan clenched his jaw. “Did you do it?”

“I wasn’t there, luckily for the man. Or perhaps unluckily. My brother’s direwolf claimed the rescue.”

The knight smiled, amused. “You should keep the dagger, my Lord.”

“No, it’s…”

“Ser Barristan is right,” Ned said, biting back a sigh. “If it’s anyone’s, it’s yours.”

“Why mine?” Jon frowned. “If anyone’s, it would be—”

“The assassin was sent to your home, Lord Starling,” Ser Barristan said. “It’s your claim as Lord of the Midnight Fortress.”

Jon thought it odd, but accepted it and placed the dagger on his belt. He couldn’t deny the blade had an excellent balance and felt right on his hip.

“I’ll go get your sisters,” Ned said.

“How is Lady Starling?” Ser Barristan asked. “I heard only the most lovely things about her.”

“She is lovely, thank you. Expecting our first child.”

“Well, my congratulations. My best wishes to you, your wife, and your children. May your family prosper.”

Jon was getting only more and more confused. They got to the courtyard, where several of the guards were lounging about, the banners with his sigil stuck on the grass. Ser Barristan looked at them with a smile.

“Winter roses. When I heard, I didn’t believe it.”

Jon frowned. “What is it with winter roses? Why does it matter that we chose it? Why did it offend the King?”

“Robert was upset, was he?” Ser Barristan chuckled. “Yes, I suppose he would be. Winter roses are rare flowers from the North, Lord Starling. They don’t exist down here, not naturally at least. Once, one such rare flower rode south, and everyone fell in love. Some say that the winter rose represents more than just beauty: it’s the stubbornness of persevering when no one would’ve thought possible, and their beauty imposes its presence, drawing all eyes and hearts. You chose wisely. Your father would be proud of you.”

Before Jon could do more than blink at the choice of tense, the Knight left, walking away quickly. _What just happened?_ Jon thought.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“What is it?” Ella asked, seeing Ned coming down the corridor as she left Sansa’s room. He was agitated and worried, which in turn concerned her.

Ned clenched his jaw, took a deep breath and pointed his head towards the end of the corridor, urging her to follow him up to his solar. Inside, he exhaled, passing his hands through his head in clear anxiety, sitting at his desk.

Ella barred the door, seeing it would be a private conversation, and checked the servants’ door for little ears. Then she stepped up to the desk, leaning against it, and pulled his hands off his hair, pulling his chin up so he could face her.

“Tell me.”

“Ser Barristan knows,” Ned confessed with a deep sigh.

“He knows…? Oh! You mean…?”

“He said Rhaegar told him.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No. Rather, he asked me to trust him as he has trusted me for the past sixteen years.”

“Trusting you to protect…”

“Yes.”

Ella took a deep breath, organising her thoughts. That changed the scenario a little bit. Who had Rhaegar told? Who at this moment right now knew of a truth that could unravel the Baratheon dynasty? Why had they kept silent for sixteen years? Why bring it up now?

“What is he going to do about it? “ she asked. “What are _you_ going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. All he said is that he knew and that I should trust him.”

“Why now?”

“I’m here now. Jon and Daenerys are married now. Who knows?”

“I know you’d rather bury the past…”

“It’s better off buried.”

“Is it? Better off for whom?” she asked and he got the impression she meant it rhetorically. “You’re not the only one who is in possession of the facts, Ned. You’ve always known that.”

“Too many people know.”

“Maybe. But I think you’re forgetting one little detail: their silence. Why did they keep silent so far? Why is Viserys Targaryen making his moves now of all times?”

“Ser Barristan won’t be involved. He said he knew the truth, which means he knows who is the rightful heir to the throne. He wouldn’t be tangled up in a scheme involving Viserys Targaryen calling himself ‘the Third of His Name’.”

“You’re not in self-imposed exile in Winterfell anymore, Ned,” Ella declared and he glared at her. “You’re in the capital, you’re in the great game. You have to figure out who are the players and what are their moves.”

“I hate politics.”

“Hate them all you like, but be careful or they’ll swallow you whole.”

Ned exhaled strongly. _Blasted be the day Robert declared war!_

“I need to know whom Rhaegar might have told,” he said. Ella smirked, anticipating what came next. “Can you write to him?” Ned asked, blushing.

“Of course I can. He’ll get a kick out of it, you know that.”

“I know,” Ned sighed. “He warned me this would come back to haunt me and I ignored him. You two can laugh about it now.”

“I’ll write to him,” she said with a smile, knowing they _would_ laugh about it. “Don’t worry, even before his answer I already know it is a short list. Rhaegar was being very careful.”

“I’d rather it were non-existent.”

“Stop whining, Ned. It’s been sixteen years and no one has made a move, it’s doubtful that there is much danger now.”

Ned grimaced as he watched her go. She was right, of course, and he knew her letter would bring back words of mocking he’d rather not hear (and that she wouldn’t spare him the full letter instead of giving him only the names). And he had to go and face a formal dinner with Robert (they had never really patched up their friendship), Cersei, and possibly Jaime Lannister. His head was throbbing again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that didn’t have a chance to read it / forgot, the ‘first kiss’ Dany and Jon talk about at the beginning of this chapter is told in the extra piece ‘A Winter Kiss’.


	20. 19 The Mountain and the Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei prepares for a conspiracy and Jon meets a new friend in the capital. The Tourney of the Hand takes place.

**Chapter 19**

**The Mountain and the Flower**

 

Jaime watched as Cersei paced from one side to the other of the room. She had called him, then furiously informed him of the new arrival to the city, and now seemed ready to do battle.

“You don’t think the boy has a secret agenda, do you?” Jaime asked. “What could it be?”

“Why is he here? We left him in the Blessed Island four moons ago and he never even mentioned coming south. And his wife is up there, carrying their bastard dragon spawn, why did he come south?”

“Didn’t he say he found something is his lands that led him here?”

“What? What is there that warrants ‘business in the capital’?

“Come on, Cersei, you’ve seen the North, there’s nothing up there.”

“And there are two big cities on the way from his big dirty island to here. He didn't need to come all the way here.”

“You’re being paranoid,” he complained, annoyed. “Stop. The boy took his ship and came straight here. It’s the biggest city this side of the continent. Why would he have stopped in Gulltown or Maidenpool if a few extra days would bring him to the capital and to his father and sisters? It makes sense. And there's the tourney coming up, maybe he came to compete. But if you want to interrogate him, invite him for tea or whatever.”

Cersei snorted. “I doubt I can stomach that.” She stopped, contemplating. “Unless I tell Robert, make him invite the Starks and the bastard for supper.”

“Well,” Jaime sighed, “I guess that means I’m included.”

“If only Tyrion were here,” Cersei sneered. “At least he’d be useful for that.”

“Go convince your fat husband,” Jaime said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get out of this white cloak if I’m having a civilian dinner.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robert didn’t question Jon’s presence, especially not after seeing Sansa’s and Arya’s necklaces. He did seem interested on the contents of the mines, though.

“The Master Miner I hired is still sussing things out,” Jon said, deciding to keep to Benjen’s advice, “but so far only dragonglass, which has no value, some non-precious metals, and this blue gem.”

“But what is this blue gem?” Cersei asked furiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

“Neither has anyone I asked. That is why I came south, to see if I can find some jeweller that knows this gem. I figured someone in the capital must,” Jon answered politely. “As it has the same colour blue as the winter rose, which is the sigil of my House, I have been calling it the winter diamond. I’ll stop by some jewellers here, see if any of them have encountered the gem before. Jewellers in King's Landing are much more prone to see things from all over the world than a poor soul in the North.”

“And what—”

“Oh stop questioning the boy!” Robert exclaimed, cutting off his wife. “Quite the keep you found your son, huh, Ned!”

“A happy coincidence,” Ned said with a smile. “Who could have guessed there would be mines in an abandoned trading post? I wonder why the Old Valyrian lords never explored them.”

“What about your army?” Cersei asked.

Jon clenched his fist around his knife, but thankfully Robert cut in again.

“And what do you know of armies, woman! He has barely moved in, and he just found his money. Of course he hasn’t got an army.”

Jon decided to keep quiet. The King seemed relaxed in the knowledge that the marriage and Daenerys’ pregnancy with the child of a bastard meant that House Targaryen was finished for good and therefore presented no risk to his reign. So, in his eyes, Jon was just like any other lord. Jon was not going to be fool enough to question it. It wasn’t like he and his wife had any immediate plans to rise in rebellion.

Supper continued in much the same way. Cersei seemed intent in asking questions, while Robert seemed to get increasingly more irritated. And drunk as well, as the King consumed more wine alone than the rest of the table combined.

“What even led you to choose winter roses?” Cersei asked as the servants collected the plates of dessert. “I would have thought House Stark would destroy all of them after the… _mess_ the last crown of winter roses caused.”

“Be quiet, woman!” Robert bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. “You’ve sprouted enough poison for one night. Be gone with you!”

“Why?” Cersei sneered. “Am I lying? Everyone remembers what a crown of winter roses…”

“I told you to leave!” Robert yelled.

“Isn't it why you forbade Daenerys Targaryen from wearing them in front of you? Because winter roses in the hands of a Targaryen—”

“Get out! Get out now! I will not have you besmirching her name!”

Cersei smirked and left, seemingly content in her provocation. Jon frowned, and it felt like the expression was going to get etched on his face. Whose name? It had to be the same person Ser Barristan had referred to earlier. But Ned cut off any questions.

“Ser Meryn, Ser Barristan, please help the King to his chambers, he’s had enough excitement for one night. Girls, son, we’re leaving. Good night, Ser Jaime.”

Ned had deflected all attempts to talk and after seeing how upset the Queen’s words had made him, Jon decided not to press. So they all returned to the Tower of the Hand quietly and went straight to bed. They were breaking fast the next morning, though the girls hadn't joined them yet, when Jon gathered the courage.

“Father, what is…?”

“I would rather not talk about it, son.”

“I'm sorry. I just… what is it about winter roses? Why is the King so upset by them?”

Ned sighed, but finally realised Jon wouldn't give up. _You really are as tenacious as your mother._ Besides, if he got the truth from anyone else, Jon would wonder why his father was so tight lipped.

“Winter roses were the favourite of… of my sister, Lyanna,” Ned finally said and Jon nodded. He knew the story. “Everyone knew about it, and eventually… she was known as the Rose of Winterfell. Robert loved her, and he never forgot her. That's why they upset him so, because he never overcame the loss.”

“Do they upset you? Why didn't you tell me? I would—”

“They don't. Truly, I don't…” he sighed. “I don't mind that you chose them,” Ned said and they were silent for a moment. “Anyway, I sent a message to the Small Council that I'm taking the morning off, so we can go around to the jewellers together.”

“You, skipping work? Father, what has the capital done to you already!”

Ned snorted. “They're too busy plotting that ridiculous tourney. If I have to sit through one more of those I'll drive a lance through one of them before the competition even starts. You should stay, though, for the tourney.”

“That means staying too long.”

“I know. But you just came all the way to King’s Landing ‘on business’. And the Queen is already suspicious. If what we suspect is right, that the Lannisters are involved, then if you leave before the tourney — which starts the day after tomorrow — Cersei will be sure you're only here to give me a message.”

“Fine,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “I'll stay.”

“Good. Let's go.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

They couldn’t find one single jeweller who had seen the gem before, and it was made clear that it was unique to the Blessed Island and, as lord of the land and the person who discovered the gem, Jon could name it whatever he damn well pleased.

The jewellers were in a tizzy with the discovery, officially named the winter diamond, more so when they saw the pommel of Jon’s sword — Daenerys was right, that increased the value and the interest immensely.

After some reflection, Jon had to admit that the tourney would be a wonderful opportunity to spread the news of the gem among the nobility — though Dany’s response to his raven that he was going to stay a few days longer than planned was bound to be furious. He hoped she would have the chance to calm down before he actually got home.

He was obsessing over the phrasing of his letter to Stannis Baratheon, regarding a deal for ships, when his father came knocking.

“You mentioned yesterday you were interested in a smith.”

“Yes. The one we’ve got right now is decent but he is no Mikken. And if I’m growing the army I’ll need weapons. Plus, there’s a lot of metal down in the caves and Dany had the idea of selling the jewellery ready instead of the gems separately. It will get us higher prices.”

“She’s got a keen mind, your wife,” Ned said with a smile, glad his son was so happy in his marriage. Any misgiving he might have had at the union had long vanished now. “I thought we could go to the Street of Steel together.”

“Are you skipping work again?” Jon asked with a smirk.

Ned rolled his eyes. “According to Lord Varys, the Small Council serves at my pleasure.”

They rode slowly through the crowded streets, Jory and Rellos behind them though not carrying banners. Jon was equal parts impressed by the shops and desolated by the misery. The imposing Sept of Baelor also brought some awe, though Jon followed the Old Gods of the Forest and not the Faith of the Seven.

Ned had kept going halfway up the street before saying they might be able to find something then. “If you allow me, my Lord,” Rellos said, “but Tobho Mott is the finest shop, right at the top. He's a stubborn little man from Qohor, and said to be the only one left in Westeros that can re-forge Valyrian Steel. If anyone could help, it's him.”

Ned nodded. “If he's the best he'll know who is looking for positions, if he doesn’t have any apprentices eager for their own posts himself.”

With that they rode all the way up the hill, stopping in front of the shop at the end of the cul-de-sac. Master Mott seemed all too eager to please, especially after seeing Ned’s pin.

“Well, yes,” he said, “I might know of a few boys around who might be ready to get their own posts. But you’ll be hard pressed to convince them to leave King's Landing and go North.”

“Even if the working conditions are better?” Jon asked, looking around. Mikken would never accept to work in a place like this.

The man scoffed, but his apprentice approached shyly. “May I, Master?” he asked, head low, though he seemed eager. Ned looked at the boy, frowning.

“What’s your name?” the Hand asked and the boy hunched into himself. “Speak, boy.”

“It’s Gendry, my Lord,” Tobho Mott said, visibly displeased. “Strong for his age, and he works hard. Show the Hand the helmet you made, lad.”

Gendry took a helmet from a shelf in a corner. It was a strong, well-made piece. “This is fine work,” Ned said.

“This is not for sale,” Gendry replied, stubborn.

“Boy, this is the King’s Hand!” Mott chided. “If the Lord wants the helmet…”

“I made it for me,” Gendry insisted, chin high.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” Mott said with a yellow smile.

Ned almost smiled. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I suppose it was Lord Arryn that pointed you here,” Mott said and Ned frowned. “He came here a few times. Asking after the boy.”

“And what did he want?” Ned asked. _What would Jon Arryn possibly want with a smith?_

“Ask questions, milord,” Gendry answered.

“What kind of questions?”

“About me work, at first,” Gendry mumbled. “If I was being treated well, if I liked it here. Then he started asking me about me mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Who she was, what she looked like.”

“What did you tell him?”

“She died when I was little. She had yellow hair. She’d sing to me sometimes.”

“Look at me.”

Gendry lifted his head, defiant, and Ned felt realisation click. Jon watched the interaction with curiosity.

“Gendry, you’re a bit past the age of being an apprentice, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I'm fourteen,” he answered shrugging. “Been working here eight years. That’s when me mother died.”

Jon nodded. “Any interest in having your own position? It’s no shop in King's Landing, but you’d have enough work. And a decent room and board, that I promise you.”

“My Lord!” Mott protested.

“I believe the choice is the boy’s,” Ned said.

“Don’t be stupid boy!” Mott insisted. “To trade a good job in the capital for a position in the forgotten North!”

“I’ll do it,” Gendry said. “I’d rather eat everyday in the North than starve in the capital.”

Mott started to complain as Ned returned the bullhead helmet.

“Go grab your things, Gendry,” Jon said, “and I’ll settle things here.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Rellos and Leeds knocked on Jon’s door after settling the smith in the servants’ quarters. The boy had been amazed at having his own bed and being allowed to eat with the other servants, all while not working — not like Jon could force him to magically produce a forge while they weren’t even home yet.

“We have a small forge right now,” Jon had told Gendry as they made their way back to the Tower of the Hand. “But we will need to build a much bigger one once the mining starts. I want you to make a list of materials with my adviser, so Lord Samwell can order the tools while we’re still in the capital.”

“You sent for us, my Lord?” Rellos asked.

“I did,” Jon said, putting his quill down. “I don’t think I need to tell either of you that the Blessed Island has vast lands unpopulated and unproductive right now. It is my intention to start farming those lands as much as possible — the man Lord Samwell called from the Reach said the lands are fertile and can produce much food. To that extent, we’ll need farmers. Also, I intend to build a fleet and have not only a navy but also trading ships.”

“And you’ll need sailors for that,” Rellos concluded.

“Indeed. Farmers, miners, sailors, soldiers — in short, smallfolk. Which I lack at the moment and which this city is overflowing with.”

“I see where this is going,” the Captain of the Guard said.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” Jon smiled. “I want you to start spreading the word in the streets of the city. Flea Bottom, everywhere. Ask Gendry to help as he can’t work as a smith now. Tell them I have lands in need of people, good lands, mines in need of people wielding pickaxes, and that I need to grow my ranks. We leave in four to five days and there’s some room in the ship for those who want to come. Then spread the word wider, to the Crownlands, Riverlands, Stormlands, Westerlands, everywhere that might have smallfolk to spare, tell them to make their way to White Harbour.”

“Right away, my Lord,” the guards said, bowing and leaving the room.

Jon exhaled heavily. He was lucky Tywin Lannister hadn’t come for the tourney. Cersei’s anger was one thing, but he was sure the Lord of Casterly Rock would be even unhappier at hearing there were more mines producing riches in Westeros.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Three days later, at the semi-finals of the jousting competition of the tourney, the crowd gasped as Ser Gregor Clegane, the “Mountain that Rides”, decapitated his horse. Tension grew as he marched purposefully towards Ser Loras, and Jon reacted before he had time to think about what he was doing, vaulting over the rope and landing on the ground, pulling his sword as the Knight of Flowers found his way off his horse. Jon parried the blows from the enraged loser, and the crowd gasped again.

He moved on automatic, parrying the blows and striking back, his first real opponent outside of a training yard. His blood pumped, but unlike the play turns he was used to, this was about life or death. It wasn’t about who was getting mocked that day, it was who was going to walk out of the fight. The other man was more experienced, stronger, and infinitely more enraged. But Jon had more skill. He could calculate the Mountain’s movements and dodge them, he relied in skill, intelligence, and training while Clegane left it all to brute strength. What felt like hours later, though it was nothing but mere moments, Ser Gregor found himself on his back, his sword across the dirt, and Jon’s on his throat.

The stunned crowd seemed to blink in shock, give out another ‘ooh’ and finally started to clap. Jon stepped back, panting, though his sword was still pointed, and Ser Gregor stood up, seeming ready to attack the boy, regardless of not having a weapon.

“STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!” Robert boomed. Jon took another step back, lowering his sword but not sheathing it. Ser Gregor roared in anger, even more furious than before, and stomped away. “Let him go!” the King yelled and the Kingsguards and the crowd opened up the way for the knight.

“You saved my life, Ser!” said Loras.

“I'm not a knight, Ser Loras.” Jon flushed. “It was nothing.”

“Of course it wasn't nothing!” the knight protested, then reached for Jon’s hand and raised it into the air, naming him the victor of the match, making the crowd roar in admiration.

“That was the single most fucking stupid thing to do, boy!” Robert exclaimed and the crowd quieted. “You showed you're your father’s son, and you won't allow dishonour to happen in front of you.” The crowd was whispering now, apparently spreading Jon’s identity. “Kneel before your King, Lord Starling. Where’s the damn High Septon when I need him!”

Jon blanched. “Your… Your Grace, I'm not…”

“I decide that, not you! Fetch your sword, boy, and kneel before your King.”

Jon cleaned his sword in a cloth a squire rushed to bring him and then knelt in a haze, and the High Septon came stumbling in, a young septon behind him carrying the holy oil. Jon barely heard the words, dazed, only replied to the King.

“Arise, Ser Jon of House Starling,” Robert said with smile like a proud uncle would wear. “Knight of the Realm.”

Jon sheathed his sword, still in a daze, then felt as Arya threw herself at him, saw as Sansa rushed over, clapping and smiling, Sam’s chubby cheeks open in a wide smile, and Ned’s proud face. All he could think of was ‘what just happened?’

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely LOVING your reactions as to the few mysteries we have going on right now. (BTW I won't tell you who is dead or alive hahahaha) Anyway, keep 'em coming because it's Carnaval, I've got a week off work and college so I might be persuaded to be extra nice :)


	21. 20 My House, My Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Blessed Island, Daenerys exercises her position as Lady of the Midnight Fortress while in King's Landing Jon deals with the aftermath of his knighting and Ned grants his son a few Royal Decrees on the running of his lands.

**Chapter 20**

**My House, My Rules**

 

Daenerys was forcing herself to breath in and out slowly through the pain. Ayla helped soothe her onto a half-lying position on the bed.

“It’s nothing to worry about. Just the baby moving about and your body starting to prepare for the birth.”

“Of course I'm worried! Jon is going to take at least another fortnight to be back, the baby better wait as well!”

Ayla smiled. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing suggesting we don’t have another moon to wait yet.”

“And the pain?”

“Practice pains. You are not even a little bit dilated and your plug didn’t come out, so the child is just being a brat. Probably missing daddy.”

Doreah came into the room then. “Sorry, my Lady. Ayla, if you’re done you better go to the kitchens. Lord Benjen asked me to get you.”

The housekeeper frowned. Regardless of their flirting, Benjen wouldn’t have called her this openly. It had to have something to do with him being acting Lord Starling while Lord Jon was away.

“What is happening?” Daenerys asked.

“Nothing Ayla can't handle, my Lady.”

“I'm sure, but I don’t like your reluctance. Tell me,” Dany insisted.

“It’s Lady Catelyn, my Lady,” Doreah confessed. “She is being… difficult.”

Daenerys sat up and the handmaiden explained what was happening. “Ayla, help me down to the Audience Hall. Doreah, gather everyone.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Ouch!” Jon complained.

He was sitting on a chair in the Stark pavilion, which now had a Starling winter rose right next to the grey direwolf banner. They had retreated there after the excitement died down so Jon could get cleaned up for the feast.

“I haven't even touched you,” Ella said with a disapproving look, finally putting the cloth against the cut. “Now you can whine. Men,” she complained under her breath. “You can fight battles and jump into fights with bigger, scarier men, but you can't handle cleaning your wounds.”

“That stings,” Jon muttered looking down at his arm. The sword had barely grazed it, but the cut was long and had made a wide red stain on his sleeve so Ella had authoritatively told him to shut up and let her tend to the wound.

“Poor you,” the woman said ironically, making Ned chuckle. “Robert did say something sensible for once. That was an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

“I know,” Jon said, blushing. “I just… I saw what he was going to do and I just… I couldn’t let him kill Ser Loras just because he lost. That’s preposterous.”

“Something a true knight would say,” Ser Barristan said, coming into the tent. “I came to see if you were well, my Lord.”

“I am, thank you, Ser Barristan,” Jon replied, wincing as Ella dabbed ointment on the wound.

“What possessed you to jump into the fight?” Ser Barristan asked.

“I just…” Jon sighed. “I don’t know, there’s something about that man. When we were fighting, I felt like I… like he had done something truly horrible against me once. Like I had to defend my siblings… like he would forget Ser Loras and go into the seats and I had to shield Sansa and Arya from him.” The adults in the room froze for a beat, and then Ser Barristan and Ned exchanged a look. “Besides,” Jon continued with a smile at his sister, “Sansa asked not to let Ser Gregor hurt Ser Loras.”

The Lord of Winterfell was shocked, terrified even, while the Kingsguard was amazed. _It’s a funny little world we live in, brother,_ Ned recalled saying to Benjen once. Funny indeed. How had Jon felt this connection? How had he felt like the Mountain was a threat to his siblings if he hadn’t even been born when the Sack of King's Landing took place? He was pulled from his reverie when Ser Barristan spoke again.

“Regardless of your reasoning, you showed some skill back there.”

“I was just defending myself.”

“Do you like sword fighting, my Lord?”

“Not really,” Jon said with a shrug. “I mean, I like sparring well enough, but I take no pleasure in hurting people. I can’t think of a reason to _enjoy_ killing anyone.”

Ser Barristan opened a nostalgic smile. “You truly are your father’s son, Lord Starling.”

Ned clenched his jaw, a pang of jealousy going through him, before he regretted it. Jon didn’t think anything of the compliment, but the northerner knew Ser Barristan was not referring to him. It stung, to be reminded he was not Jon’s real father. Especially today, when he had so much cause to be proud.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn could barely hold her irritation at being ‘summoned’ by the girl. Honestly, the gall of her!

Benjen had left the kitchens when the handmaiden first came, obviously being told where to go. So now Catelyn, Edmure, and Robb followed the girl and the customary two guards — guarding Robb, as Catelyn had never been offered personal escort and Edmure had brought so few men when their father had sent him off after the runway Catelyn that her brother had thought it best to station them to work at their doors overnight rather than dog their steps during the day.

The height of the red double doors indicated the importance of a great room and Catelyn was amazed when she crossed the threshold. It was certainly the Audience Hall, for across the room there was an elevated dais where there were two grand chairs. Benjen stood next to the Lord’s empty chair and Daenerys sat on the chair to the left, Ayla to her side. Ghost stood guard in front of both chairs, clearly showing no one would threaten House Starling without dealing with him first.

“Lady Catelyn,” Daenerys called when the group had come before her. “I heard the food prepared in my kitchens displeases you.”

“They are not healthy for a convalescing child.”

“Maester Wolkan has spoken with the cooks and given strict instructions for Lord Bran’s recovery, and I'm assured they are followed to the letter. And I don’t think I need to remind you that, even if that weren’t the case, common courtesy dictates that you should never interfere with your hosts’ household. Any grievances should have been addressed directly to me or at least my housekeeper before you invaded my kitchens and started sprouting orders.”

“I am Lady Stark—”

“Are you?” Daenerys taunted. “The place of Lady Stark is Winterfell, and if I'm not mistken, you have been banished. You have even been banished from Lord Stark’s side. But, nevertheless, we are not in Winterfell, we are in the Midnight Fortress and the Midnight Fortress is ruled by House Starling. I am Lady Starling, therefore, my house, my rules. You have arrived here, three moons ago, uninvited and unwelcome. Despite all of the insults you’ve bestowed upon me, my husband, and our unborn child I have allowed you to stay due to Lord Bran’s condition. And I did so, against my husband’s initial wishes, because I understood you were a concerned mother. But by interfering with my household and threatening to dismiss my servants for following my orders and not yours, you have now overstayed your already uneasy welcome. Lord Benjen will make the boat arrangements and you will leave in the morning. As your escort, Lord Edmure will leave as well.”

“Are you asking me to leave?” Catelyn asked, shocked.

“No. I am banishing you from the Blessed Island and any Starling holdings. You will _not_ return here regardless of who is sick or isn't. You should go to bed early, though. First tide is at dawn.”

Stunned, Catelyn allowed the guards and Edmure to lead her out of the Hall and back to her room.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon and Ned soon made their way to the main pavilion, where the feast would take place once King Robert finally arrived. In Daenerys’ absence, Jon almost glued Arya and Sansa to his side. Every single nobleman and noblewoman in the Seven Kingdoms seemed to want to talk to him, to introduce themselves, to praise his bravery. And then they saw Sansa’s and Arya’s necklaces and inspected the pommel of Jon’s sword more closely, and their interest doubled — though the sword was half ruined after the small duel. Jon would need to ask Gendry to borrow the Red Keep’s forge for a few moments to see what he could do to fix it before they left.

“Well, you really did go out of your way to raise interest,” Sam had joked when Jon complained about the state of his wife’s gift. “You're right, I wouldn't have been able to do that by myself.”

“Oh, I could barely believe it when I heard who you were,” Jon turned around to see an elderly woman approaching. He frowned, before he saw the golden flower motif on her and the girl standing next to her.

“Lady Olenna, I presume,” Jon said.

“Well, there goes my disguise. What gave it away, I wonder? The golden rose of House Tyrell? Oh, don’t bother answering, child, I forget myself sometimes. May I, as Dowager Lady Tyrell, present the compliments of my House to our hero?”

“Of course, my Lady. It was an honour to aid Ser Loras.”

“You, knights, and your honour,” Olenna said. “This is my granddaughter, the Lady Margaery.”

“Thank you for saving my brother's life, Ser Jon,” Margaery said, smiling.

“Nonsense. I honestly didn't realise what I was doing until Ser Gregor was on his back.”

“This is not the place for modesty, Lord Starling,” Lady Olenna said. “Though I can see why you would struggle. But enough of that. I find myself even more eager to establish a good alliance between our Houses.”

“Thank you, Lady Olenna, I feel I return your sentiment.”

“And isn't Lady Starling in the capital?” Margaery asked.

“I'm afraid not. I thought the voyage ill advised for an expectant mother, so I left her in the Midnight Fortress,” he smiled falsely, all too aware of the movings of Court: a woman never decided anything, only her husband.

“Well, my congratulations, Lord Starling,” said Lady Olenna. “My dates are getting mumbled, I wasn't aware you had been married that long.”

“Just over ten moons now.”

“Jon!” Sansa jumped over, overly excited.

Jon chuckled. “My sister, Lady Sansa, might I introduce Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter, Lady Margaery.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, I forgot myself.”

“Quite all right, dear,” Olenna said fondly, “and I must say, that is a beautiful necklace you’ve got there.”

“Thank you, Lady Olenna,” Sansa said, the picture of the proper lady, “it was a gift from my brother.”

The Queen of Thorns smiled. “Every new thing I hear about you is a new wonder, Lord Starling. This winter diamond everybody seems to be talking about is indeed a beauty. I keep finding more and more reasons to rejoice in a future alliance.”

“And what would a House of the Reach have to ally with a House of the North?” Cersei asked.

Sansa shrunk next to Jon, clutching his arm, and though he didn’t falter, it was Lady Olenna who took over. “Well, I'm sure you’re aware of the unique position of the Blessed Island, Your Grace. A trade deal between House Tyrell and House Starling is not a flight of fancy, it’s beneficial for our Houses, the Reach, and the North.”

“I came to congratulate you, Ser Jon,” Cersei said with clear displeasure. “I’m sure your heroics today only helped your trade deal.”

“Be careful, dear,” Olenna said with a smile, “your contempt is showing. Are you jealous he didn’t bring you a fancy necklace?”

The Queen pursed her lips. “My father has enough mines to please me.”

“If you say so.” Olenna’s smile grew. Cersei gave her a glare and walked away briskly. “Come on, child,” she called Sansa, “I find myself hungry, and I’d love to get to know you better on the way there. I'm afraid if we wait for King Robert we shall all die of starvation.”

Sansa smiled as they left and Margaery stepped closer. “The Queen seems very angry. Though I think jealous should be the better word.”

“I can understand. A year ago I was a bastard set to marry and shame a former princess. Now I have a prominent House and my first visit to the capital has been causing quite the stir.”

“An impressive man.” Margaery smiled. “With an impressive prospect. Makes us wonder if House Stark didn’t waste such a wonderful bachelor.”

“My fortune comes from the King’s grace in allowing me to marry Lady Starling. And I'm not a Stark.”

“I'm sorry if I have given offence, my Lord, as it wasn’t my intention. I merely meant to say that I’m very intrigued by the North now. We often hear such terrible stories down here.”

“Of how we are unwashed barbarians?”

Margaery chuckled. “Among other things. If it wouldn’t be an imposition, I would very much like to visit whenever it would please you and Lady Starling.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my lady wife of your desire to meet. After our child comes, I’m sure Lady Starling will be pleased to receive you.”

With a nod, Jon stepped away, going to where his father seemed overwhelmed while talking with some angry-looking men.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The feast was nearly over. Most of the food had been served, wine had flown like a river and everyone was in good spirits — except Joffrey, who was already in a foul mood when he came to invite Sansa to sit with him and got a scathing reply from Jon. Cersei hadn’t shown up to the tourney and had disappeared from the tourney grounds before the feast had even started after the way Robert had yelled at her the night before.

Sansa and Arya had long since tired of the festivities, so Ella went to take them home, and Ned left to escort them. So Jon and Sam were sitting in the Stark place of honour, surrounded by loud men who wanted a conversation with the newest knight. Jon was laughing at a particularly bad joke one of them was telling when he heard Sam whimper. Turning to his friend, he saw that he was trying to disappear into himself. Jon started to frown when a shadow fell over the table.

“Lord Starling,” called a grave, arrogant voice. “I must offer my compliments.”

Jon looked up at the man. He was tall and bald at the top of his head, trimming the hair on the side short. He was built like a true warrior, and his hands were rough from wielding a sword. His eyes were cruel and unforgiving. Jon didn’t need to see the standing archer sewed onto his jerkin to know who he was.

“Lord Tarly, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, only to be polite. “Lady Tarly,” he stood up with a smile, kissing the back of her hand as courtesy demanded, “you are as lovely as the many tales I have heard led me to imagine.”

Melessa smiled, blushing prettily. “And you are as kind and brave as the many tales I heard led me to believe, Lord Starling. You are too kind to have given my son a position when he is so young!”

“Oh, trust me, Lady Tarly, it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Sam is a lifesaver. House Starling would be lost without him.”

“Why? Has he magically learnt to wield a sword and saved you from a band of wildlings? I heard they are quite common in the North.”

Sam whimpered again and retreated further into himself. Jon clenched his jaw, thinking he was hard pressed to find a more odious man.

“Wielding a sword is not the only honourable way to live, my lord.”

“Says the boy who was just anointed a knight.”

“Tell me, Lord Tarly, if all men wielded swords, who would manage the fields? As a man from the Reach, I'm sure you will agree that the farmer is as needed as the soldier.”

“Are we comparing the nobility to the rabble now?”

Jon wanted to challenge the man to a duel only to shut him up. “If you want an example in the nobility, within the Great Houses, the late Lord Jon Arryn was no military man and he was the second most powerful man in the Kingdoms for almost two decades.”

“Are you comparing yourself to the King now, boy?”

“Far from it,” Jon laughed. “Very far. I'm merely pointing out the best example we have that not all glory and fame lies in a sword.”

Lord Tarly opened his mouth to argue, but his wife cut him off.

“Very well said, Lord Starling. My Sam is a scholar, not a warrior.”

“And what are you going to live on for the rest of your life?” Randyll asked his son. “An income that can disappear any minute when your master gets tired of you? You’ll never get a woman interested in you. No less because you will have nothing to leave your sons.” Melessa frowned, clearly confused, but Jon cut in.

“You are mistaken, Lord Tarly.”

“He has—”

“I know he has renounced his right to Horn Hill,” Jon interrupted again, though he noticed how Lady Tarly was completely befuddled with the conversation. “But I am the Lord of a major House. I was planning on waiting for a more propitious time, but the opportunity has presented itself. I just got the paperwork that the King recognises the creation of House Tarly of the Blessed Island, a minor House sworn to House Starling. Considering how fertile my island is, I daresay Sam will have enough riches to make a very good match.”

Sam was so shocked he forgot he was cowering before his father, looking at Jon slack-jawed. Melessa seemed utterly confused, until a wave of clarity seemed to wash through her.

“Sam never wanted to join the Night's Watch, did he?” she asked her husband in a low voice. “He was kicked out of his own home and threatened out of his birthright.”

“My dear…” Randyll started, his voice also low, though dangerous.

“No ‘my dear’s. We’ll speak later,” she said, almost in a threat. “Lord Starling, I'm… I can never find enough words to thank you for what you have done for my son.”

“None of this, my Lady. Sam earned all of this. I would truly be lost without him organising all my household and deals.

Randyll was apoplectic. “A weak fat pudding of a coward and a naïve boy-lord. It’s a wonder House Starling has made it this far.” He left, storming out of the pavilion and leaving his wife to stare daggers at his back.

Once Melessa had finally said her good-byes to her son and left, Jon and Sam were left alone in their seats.

“I'm sorry,” Sam mumbled. “He is… he shouldn’t have spoken about you like that. And you didn’t have to invent all that.”

“I didn’t invent anything, Sam. And I meant every word of it — you earned your own House. Can you imagine me trying to organise the shipbuilding, the farming, and the mining by myself? I’d go crazy before long. Not to mention all the trade deals you worked even before we discovered the mines. If we have half the money to invest in the mining business, instead of borrowing everything from the Iron Bank and drown in debts, it’s greatly due to you.”

“Wait, so… so… I have my own House?”

“Yes. Though now that I think about it, if you want to change your name, make a truly new House instead of a cadet branch, let me know. Tonight. My father said he’d sign the papers in the morning.”

“No, I… I don’t care any for my father, but our ancestors don’t have anything to do with it.”

“Alright.” Jon reached for their goblets. “A toast to the new Lord Tarly!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon sat in his father’s study with a smile, watching as he stamped his seal on the documents. The grey direwolf of House Stark next to the yellow badge of his office.

“I would prefer it if you kept quiet on this other one,” Ned said. “At least for a while longer?”

“Why? It’s not against the law, is it?”

“No, no. But it is different. And you’ve been causing quite the stir already. If she gets wind of this, Cersei Lannister will start sprouting words of rebellion and we don’t need that.”

“Fine,” Jon agreed, however begrudgingly.

“Besides, if Daenerys carries a son, it won't matter.”

“I know, I know. I just… I don’t see why women are any less capable of inheriting than a man. Dany is as capable of being lady of the keep as I am. We discuss our ideas together, and she does much more than just deal with the household. Bear Island has been ruled by a lady for some years now, and no one has a thing to say against it. So if Dany carries a daughter, that girl will be my heiress.”

Ned smiled, amused. He’d been shocked at first when Jon had approached him with the request for a Royal Decree on the succession of House Starling. To make it gender-blind primogeniture was a Dornish idea, not the Westerosi norm. Targaryens even went as far as putting brothers before daughters after the Dance of Dragons.

But of course Jon had to be his mother’s son and fight for equality. Ned was certain that, if he had been given a chance to sit on the throne, Jon would make gender-blind primogeniture a law on all Westerosi inheritance, and Daenerys would only encourage him. Shaking himself out of the treasonous thoughts, Ned finished signing off on the documents.

“I’ve written a letter for your uncle. Would you mind taking it?”

“Of course not.”

“Jon — don’t read it.”

The young man frowned. “Father, I wouldn’t.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” Ned sighed. “It’s just… it’s a private conversation and I wouldn’t trust a raven that went through the Grand Maester’s hands. I'm sorry. I suppose the capital is making me into a distrustful person.”

“As long as you don’t grow too paranoid, Father, I suppose it is a good thing. There are many here you shouldn’t trust.”

Ned smiled, giving Jon the envelope and the rolls and standing up to hug him.

“I’m proud of you, son. You cannot imagine how much.” Jon smiled, touched, but Ned noticed his hesitation. “What is it?”

“I know it saddens you when I… please, Father, I’m a man now. Just… if you ask me, I won't search for her. Just give me a name. Please.”

Ned felt his heart shrink with pain. It had been years since Jon had last asked. He had half expected him to insist when he had broken down after hearing Catelyn’s odious confession, but he hadn’t.

“She would be very proud of you as well, son.”

“ _Would_? As in… is she dead?” Jon asked and Ned nodded, and both their eyes filled with tears. The man decided to be as honest as he could.

“She… she died in childbed. I barely made it there on time. A maid put in you in my arms and then she begged me to keep you safe. She… she died saying how much she loved you.”

Jon bit his lip to keep from sobbing, but that didn’t work for long and Ned pulled him into a hug, wishing he could have spared his son this pain.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

With a handful of letters asking to buy jewellery with the winter diamond, Jon prepared to leave King's Landing happily. He would miss his father and sisters, and even Ella, but he was anxious to go home.

He’d had a last chance to talk to Ser Barristan just as he was preparing to get on his horse to leave, as the Queen had come to take Sansa and Arya in another stroll through the gardens.

“I'll keep an eye on them for you, my Lord,” the knight said.

“Thank you, Ser Barristan,” Jon said earnestly. “Anything… I feel like I can trust you. So, please, if… if anything happens, get them to me.”

“I will. On my honour, I will.”

So Jon got on his horse and led the way out. Cersei’s constant glares had made him anxious enough and following the urging from both his father and Rellos, Jon hired more guards, as well as a few hedge knights who had come to the tourney and wanted to swear fealty in exchange of a place to live. That was wonderful news, as his growing army needed high officers and commanders. But it also made the _Lady Daenerys_ nearly uncomfortably full when you added the number of smallfolk joining their party.

The stop in Dragonstone promised to be uncomfortable and, not wanting to impose, Jon and Sam went alone on the boat with only Rellos and a handful of guards. Stannis Baratheon was short-tempered and bad humoured, as well as very defensive, but in the end he and Jon were able to strike a deal: in exchange for nickel and copper — which the mines had in abundance — Stannis would send his best ship captain, Ser Davos Seaworth, to help Jon build his fleet and train his sailors.

The winds were kind and the voyage up the Narrow Sea to the Blessed Island was easy — Sam wasn’t as sick this time around. Jon smiled as the Midnight Fortress appeared black against the clear blue sky as they came closer, the wind colder and much more pleasant than the stifling heat of the south.

“Home sweet home,” he told Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the love!!!
> 
> Not that I've been counting, but I think the last chapter had the biggest amount of comments -- you inspired me greatly! With that, the Gendrya sneak-peak will be posted by Saturday :)
> 
> Now I'll bribe you again and say that if you want the sneak-peak + a new chapter you're gonna have to inspire me again hahahaha  
> Enjoy this one, I've loved writing it!


	22. 21 Monopoly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany reunite after his return from King's Landing. In the capital, Ella receives the answer to Ned's question while in Casterly Rock Tywin Lannister has received a letter of his own. Ned receives disturbing news from a fellow Small Council member and the plot surrounding a well-guarded secret thickens.

**Chapter 21**

**Monopoly**

 

They got to the harbour just before dawn, so by the time Jon tiptoed into his bedchamber the sun was barely peeking out. He smiled from the door, seeing Dany lying on her side, a pillow propped under her baby bump for support and Ghost sprawled on his side of the bed, tongue lolling out.

The direwolf raised his head as he heard the door open, but Jon shushed him. Ghost looked to Dany and Jon could almost feel the effort he was making to not wag his tail. As carefully as he could, the wolf jumped to the floor and went to greet Jon. Careful to keep his chuckles inside, Jon played with his companion and then opened the door for him to leave.

He chucked his boots and cloak off as quietly as he could and then crawled onto the bed, kissing a string of kisses from Daenerys’ forehead to her bump, paying special attention to the little foot kicking beneath the skin. She finally stirred, barely opening her eyes.

“I see you deemed it reasonable to return home, my lord husband,” she mumbled sleepily.

Jon chuckled. She was obviously still grumpy he'd gone and taken so long to return. “That is no way to speak to a knight of the realm, Lady Starling.”

She hummed as he continued to caress the spot where their child was demanding attention. Then she stilled as the words registered.

“A knight of the realm?” she asked and Jon nodded with a smile. “I must still be dreaming.”

“Why? Have you always dreamed about marrying a gallant knight?”

“Why, are you jealous, Lord Starling?” her voice was playful as he inched her nightdress up to be able to see her bump uncovered. She winced, rolling to her back and trying to find a comfortable position.

“Are you in pain?”

“The baby is too squished up in there. And restless. Kicking my ribs, elbowing my bladder. It's bloody uncomfortable.”

“That's not nice, little one,” Jon said against the skin of her belly. “What about you behave and not hurt your mama?”

“They behaved well enough, waiting for you,” Dany whined. “But they can come out now.” Jon chuckled again, kissing the rebellious little foot. “So, you were about to tell me about becoming a knight.”

Jon smiled, not moving away, and told her what had happened on the final match of the tourney. When he was done, she slapped the back of his neck and he exclaimed in protest.

“What was that for?!”

“You jumped into a foolish duel with Gregor Clegane with no armour on, Jon! Are you mad?”

“I couldn’t let him just kill Ser Loras!”

“How many knights were there? You didn’t need to get involved!”

“I told you, I didn’t notice—”

“That’s no excuse! Don’t you remember what he did at the Sack? How do you think I would feel if I had to hear I lost another family member because of that monster? That I lost _you_? How do you think I would feel if I had to tell our child you were killed because you were a fool?”

Jon shivered. Of course he remembered what had happened to Princess Rhaenys, Prince Aegon, and Elia Martell. After the fact, remembering what he had told his father and Ser Barristan in the pavilion, he was certain that was the impression he had had — rather than a fear for his siblings, it was fear because of his wife’s good-sister, niece, and nephew. He was also reminded of the nightmare that had been plaguing him ever since leaving King's Landing. A woman’s laughter, though her face was too hazy to be recognised; a northern lullaby; and the words. _My baby boy. I love you. My little prince. Promise me, Ned. Love him for me, Ned. Tell him I held him in my arms but once, but I love him so much. I’m scared, Ned. I don’t want to die._

“I'm sorry,” Jon said sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you certainly were not.”

Jon felt his hackles go up. “Look, I get that you’re upset, but I'm fine. I put him on his back and I was knighted.”

“How silly of me, you were knighted, everything is perfect so long as you play the hero!”

“I didn’t do it for glory!”

Daenerys went to give a scathing reply but the baby gave a particularly harsh kick and she fell back on the pillows with a grimace of pain. All the anger and the fight left Jon as he saw her discomfort and he decided to let it go for now.

“How can I help?”

She let out a deep breath, deciding to postpone her anger as well. “The baby likes it when you sing.”

“What is it with you and getting me to sing?”

“I like your voice. Please.”

He sighed, but complied. He could never deny her anything.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella knocked on the door and walked into Ned’s solar without actually waiting to be granted entrance.

“Is there a particular reason as to why we’re buying chamomile tea in droves?” Ned asked barely looking up. “I never knew you to like tea so much.”

“Well, you were the one going on about disguise. And I’m not buying it in droves. Perhaps slightly more than usual, but it’s a reasonable amount when we don’t have a garden.”

“Disguise?” he frowned, then took a look at her. The only ‘disguise’ she had on, aside from her sudden distaste for purple, was the lighter coloured hair, the colour of light honey. “You can’t mean your _hair_!” he exclaimed and she nodded. “How do you dye your hair with _tea_?”

“Do you really want to discuss what I do with my hair?

He begun to raise an eyebrow until he saw the letter she held in her hands and anxiety kicked in. “What did he say?”

“That you are a as stubborn as a blind aurochs, as reasonable as a door most of the time, and has less sense than a newborn if you really thought you had effectively buried the story.”

Ned was annoyed, though he was actually expecting something worse. “Well, your brother is never shy to voice his opinion of me.”

Ella chuckled. “He will forever be bitter that you managed to disarm him.”

“Let him be bitter, but if it weren’t for Howland and Lyanna’s screams he would certainly have regained the upper hand.”

“You and my brother have too much of the same frame of mind,” Ella said, rolling her eyes. “You are both stubborn, honourable fools.”

“Has he given a name?” Ned insisted, not wishing to further delve into the subject. He did not like Ella’s displeased face.

“He said that Ser Barristan was the last of the Kingsguard Rhaegar would have trusted — Jaime Lannister was too new to the capital, and he was in King's Landing, not fighting at the Trident; Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Gwayne Gaunt were too much of the King’s creatures and Prince Lewin was, of course, too much of a risk, as Rhaegar hadn’t told Elia yet.”

“And?”

“And,” she sighed, “Jon Connington. He was one of Rhaegar’s closest friends. Some even say he was in love with his ‘Silver Prince’.”

“Connington disappeared to never be heard of again. Some say he drunk himself to death.”

“Yes, that's as likely as him swearing fealty to Robert. And he disappeared while taking Viserys Targaryen away to safety. I don’t know what to think — he was such a good friend to Rhaegar that I understand saving his brother, but why disappear?”

“Escape Robert. You know what happened to Griffin’s Roost.”

“I know. But I don’t think he knew. He would have declared for Rhaegar’s son, he wouldn’t have vanished into thin air.”

“I suppose I can rest easier then,” Ned said, clearing his throat. “As you said, it has been sixteen years.”

Ella smiled. “You worry too much, my love.” Then she caught herself and stood up from her position leaning against the desk. Ned held her arm, entwining their fingers. “You’re making things hard again,” she whispered.

Ned stood up and she looked up to him. He was completely bewitched by her purple eyes — he had fallen completely and irresistibly for them back in Harenhall and now seventeen years and a lifetime later, they were just as entrancing as they had been then. She was his drug.

“I'm only human,” he said quietly.

Their lips met halfway, urgent and desperate.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Benjen walked through the kitchen, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He knew if the cook caught him again she’d brandish her ladle violently. He finally found her in the service yard, sitting in the sun and sewing the Starling winter rose onto yet another baby blanket.

“That child will end up having more blankets than time to use them.”

Ayla chuckled. “That child will be born in the time of summer snows,” she said, looking up from her work. “And I think you underestimate how slowly things take to dry up with bad weather, and how many blankets a newborn goes through everyday.”

He offered her the simple bouquet he had in his hands. She smiled softly, putting the blanket aside and accepting the flowers. They were orange-red, like fire, and had the format of bells.

“These are new ones,” Ayla said, breathing them in.

“Fireflowers,” Benjen said with a satisfied smile. “The boys at the village said they grow in the foot of the volcano.”

“They are lovely, thank you,” she said, blushing.

Benjen frowned. “What is it?”

She looked up to him. “What are we doing?”

He was startled with the question, then he blushed too. He took a moment to consider what to say.

“I…”

The kitchen bell started to ring. Ayla took the flowers and the blanket and stood up.

“I have to go. You should go too, they’ll be in the Great Hall soon enough.”

Before Benjen could react she had vanished inside the kitchen, leaving him standing there, confused and befuddled.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Mines! They have mines!”

Kevan Lannister flinched as his older brother yelled, throwing the letter on the desk and standing up so suddenly and furiously his chair tumbled over.

“From what we know, these mines only hold one gem of importance. Nothing too worrying,” he said, trying to smooth things over.

Tywin was less than appeased. “A gem that seems to be garnering quite the interest. Lancel said the jewellers are praising it, saying it's strong and beautiful and precious. Not to mention how the boy put himself in the public eye. Honestly, Clegane must have been drunk! First he lost, then he decapitated his own fucking horse in front of everybody, then he goes to commit the stupidity of attacking the Tyrell boy and is thrown on his back by a bastard boy so green he would still be clutching the skirts of his whore of a mother if she were around!”

“Surely if the Queen refuses to wear anything with this gem…”

“Seems Cersei butchered that,” Tywin said, pursing his lips displeased. “After what that boy prince did in Winterfell, people are garnering sympathy for the bastard and the dragon spawn. This is exactly what we were trying to avoid. I should have sent an assassin after the girl years ago. Now the boy’s stupidity shielded her again and Robert has fallen in love with the bastard.”

“Robert is a fool. He set up the match to weaken Daenerys Targaryen and he is now giving gifts and titles to the bastard at every chance he gets.”

“Yes, he is a fool. But he is the one who wears the crown. This is terrible, Kevan. They have mines and ours are running dry.”

“We can hold on for a few years yet.”

“Yes, but how many? If we start lowering our standards people will pounce, so we can't cut expenses. Calling in the Crown debt would make us rich again, but people would wonder why. We need to find something.”

“You could argue mines were exclusive to the Westerlands. Find a way to legally forbid the boy to explore his,” Kevan said. Tywin was silent for a moment.

“It’s not a completely foolish idea. If I play it right, Ned Stark won't even notice what he’s agreeing to until after it’s done.”

“And what will he be agreeing to?”

“Monopoly. Each region claims monopoly on its greatest export.”

“We won't be able to sell food anymore,” Kevan argued.

“We sell food amongst ourselves, brother. The Reach is the greatest exporter, I can get the Tyrell’s support. If I give the Vale wheat and corn, I can lure Lysa Arryn. If I pose it to Ned Stark as if to give the North wool and timber, he might agree.”

“And if the Westerlands claim monopoly on mining…” Kevan deduced.

“Then the boy will have to pay us a tax to be able to explore his mines. That solves two birds with one stone — we get an income and he doesn’t get as much money.”

“But if Ned Stark notices…”

“I’ll plan it carefully,” Tywin said dismissively.

He could do it. He could revolutionise the way the economy worked, getting his fortune built back up in the process. After all, what was the Lannister name without the gold to back it up?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon and Dany had joined Benjen, Bran, and Sam in the Great Hall for breakfast. It was heart-warming to see Bran smiling, recovering a bit of his old self rather than the angry little boy he’d become ever since he’d woken up. Robb had had to leave for Winterfell, since the acting Lord Stark had been away for too long already, but Bran had asked to stay a little while longer, to meet his future niece or nephew, what of course hadn’t been denied. Theon had evidently left with Robb.

“Did you see many knights?” Bran asked animatedly. “How was the tourney? Who won?”

“About that…” Jon flushed and Daenerys pursed her lips, displeased.

“Don’t tell me you competed!” Benjen exclaimed. “Did you win?”

“Kind of. I thought it best to not compete in the melee after they crowned me victor in the jousting.”

“Are you daft?” Benjen cried. “You’re wonderful with a sword! Were you afraid of the knights?”

“You’re not so good with a lance, though.” Dany needled with a smile.

“How did you win against all those experienced knights?” Bran was the most excited.

Jon, blushing each moment more, told the story of rescuing Ser Loras from Ser Gregor.

“You really defeated the Mountain?” Bran asked in awe.

Jon smiled timidly. “I did. Ser Loras insisted I should be crowned victor in his stead, since I saved his life.”

“And what else?” Bran asked.

Jon looked at Daenerys, who was biting her lower lip to keep in her response. “The King told me to kneel,” he said and Bran gasped, “and knighted me right there.”

“Well, look at that!” Benjen laughed. “Ser Jon Starling, Lord of the Blessed Island!”

“How are things here?” Jon asked, conspicuously looking around. Daenerys wasn’t fooled by his lack of subtlety.

“I kindly asked them to leave,” she said bitingly.

“Mother was being a bit rude,” Bran said. “But it was Uncle Edmure who was really annoying.”

“Uncle Benjen has found a lady love,” Dany said, only to change the subject. Benjen blushed deeply.

“Really!” Jon exclaimed. “Who is it?”

“Daenerys is exaggerating.”

“The gardeners have seen him collecting flowers,” Dany revealed. “And I caught him singing.”

“Whoever she is, Uncle, I approve.”

“You don’t even know who she is,” Benjen mumbled, watching from the corner of his eyes as Ayla walked into the room. He bit back a smile when he saw the fireflowers weaved into the braids of her hair.

“She makes you happy!” Jon said. “That’s why I approve. Unless she’s trying to take advantage of you, then we disapprove.”

“She isn't,” Daenerys said, trying not to laugh at the way Ayla had flushed and Benjen was trying hard to look everywhere but at her. “I approve of it madly. It’s high time this castle saw a marriage.”

Benjen choked on a bite of sausage and, across the room, Ayla dropped a jar of root beer, the metal clinking loudly to the floor. Jon looked at the mess, then at the way his wife was trying to keep her laughter in. He squeezed her hand, nodding his head in the housekeeper’s direction, widening his eyes. Dany smiled and nodded. Jon laughed.

“Well, I approve of it madly too!” he turned a bit and Dany saw what he was about to do and squeezed his hand, shaking her head no. He frowned, but relented, relaxing back on his chair.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Varys sneaked around the hidden passageways, aware of the man Littlefinger had watching him and the several spies watching Ned Stark.

“What can I do for you, Lord Varys?” Ned asked, clearing his throat, as soon as the man had entered his solar and closed all the windows and both doors.

Varys smiled. Both Ned and the governess had red-kissed lips and were slightly discomposed. The Spider decided remarking on his unfortunate interruption would only start the conversation on the wrong foot, so he ignored it.

“More like what _I_ can do for _you_ , my Lord. There are things you must know. You are the King’s Hand, and the King is a fool. Your friend, I know, yet a fool nonetheless… and doomed, unless you save him.”

“Doomed how?” Ned stiffened, anxious.

“He means Cersei,” Ella said, wondering why Varys hadn’t insisted a virtual stranger left the room.

Varys smiled. “Yes.”

“I can’t believe that, not even of Cersei. He is her husband.” Ned protested.

“Do you remember the melee, my Lord?”

“Cersei told him not to fight!” Ned insisted.

“She _forbade_ him to fight, in front of his little brother, his knights, and half the Court,” Ella pointed out. “Do you know of any surer way to force that fat fool into the melee?” Ned widened his eyes in warning, but Ella only rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, I'm not enough of a fool to think Lord Varys doesn’t know who I am.”

“I have to say I had only the strongest suspicions until the door opened today, my Lady.”

“I'm no one’s lady, Lord Varys. Not anymore. But I know you. You won't tell anyone. Not yet at least.”

“How can we know that?” Ned asked, his face full of concern.

“Because it’d cost me my head, probably cost you your position, but it wouldn’t help Robert or Varys in anything,” Ella explained. “And it would open the Handship to the Lannisters, which is most likely the last thing this realm needs. That is not how the Spider works.”

“As sharp as always, my Lady.” Varys smiled indulgently. “But we digress. The Lannisters grow tired of Robert, Lord Stark. It won't take much longer before they try again — Joffrey is old enough to be secured as an heir without much trouble while Cersei rules as regent.”

“Why did you not come to me earlier? It’s been a fortnight since the tourney.”

“I wanted to see what you would do, quite honestly. Obviously I was sounding out other attempts, and there have been none. And I did not know if I could trust you, my Lord. Would you be so invested to help Robert once you saw the King he was?”

“Are you accusing me of treason?” Ned asked furiously.

“He is as tenacious as his mother, isn’t he? Lord Starling, I mean. Though he’s inherited his skill with a sword from his father.”

Ned paled, his face losing all signs of colour. “I don’t…”

“Please, Lord Stark, do you really think the Prince of Dragonstone of all people can disappear and the Master of Whispers won't know where to? With that distinguishing hair and indigo eyes of his, that no one would notice they were dealing with Rhaegar Targaryen, regardless of the name he called himself? That he’d send three of the Kingsguards to a remote location in the south and I wouldn't know? I’ve kept quiet for sixteen years. I won't speak now.”

“What do you want?”

“Viserys Targaryen is on the move.”

“I thought the boy was hiding in Essos.”

“So did I, actually, as surprising as that is. And no longer a boy — he’s twenty-one now. But that is not what concerns me. He is not the rightful king.”

Ned sighed. “Are you going to tell Robert?”

Varys smiled. “I could’ve told him years ago about this little truth, Lord Stark. I haven’t.”

“Why?”

“Why murder an innocent child just because a man is blinded by jealousy?” Varys asked, shrugging. “I know you mistrust me, my Lord, and you’re right to do so. The Red Keep shelters two sorts of people, Lord Stark. Those who are loyal to the realm, and those who are loyal only to themselves. Until recently, I could not say which you might be and now I know for a certainty. I begin to comprehend why the Queen fears you so much. Oh, yes I do.”

“It seems she ought to fear you too,” Ned said.

Varys’ smile grew. “Oh, she doesn’t fear me, because if she says ‘kill him’, Robert won't ask why before calling for Ilyn Payne and off goes my head. But you are right, she ought to. I don’t serve Robert or any other king. I serve the realm, because someone must. The common people, who suffer under despots and prosper under good kings. Robert is not a despot, I will say that about him, and he is an unquestionable improvement on the Mad King, but he has no interest in _being_ king. And we both know that Jaime Lannister’s bastard will be a tyrant, perhaps even worse than the Mad King himself.”

Ned gasped. “So it is true?”

Varys smiled indulgently. “Little truths, Lord Stark, I deal in little truths. I could have uncovered it and ended the Lannisters years ago, but then Robert would demand their heads and lose Tywin Lannister’s support. You know we depend on Lannister gold to keep the kingdom fed.”

“How did Jon Arryn die?” Ned asked.

“The Tears of Lys, it’s called.”

“Fancy,” Ella said, and then she raised an eyebrow. “And very expensive. It is nearly undetectable, but for the Grand Maester to not have even suspected it…”

“I’m glad to see Dornish education does still hold its standards, my Lady.”

Ella wasn’t flattered. “Why? Pycelle is in Tywin Lannister’s pockets, there would be no need for the theatre.”

Varys shrugged. “That is actually befuddling even me. Did Pycelle notice and hide it or did he really not notice? Was it really the Lannisters? I can't say for sure.”

“Who else would it be?” Ned asked.

“Oh, some dear friend, no doubt, but who? Lord Arryn had so many... All I know are the signs of the poison that I recognised. Lord Arryn started asking questions, and he drew Stannis Baratheon into his quest. Less than three moons later, Lord Arryn was dead and our Master of Ships disappeared to Dragonstone as soon as the King left through the Gods Gate.”

“What is it you want, Lord Varys?” Ned demanded.

“We both know who is the true king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Robert is the King,” Ned stated and Ella scoffed.

Varys smiled again. “I'm not proposing to overthrow him. No, that would hardly be beneficial to the people, a bloody war that would kill uncountable thousands. I suggest we get the realm in order, balance out the treasury — you can command a little bit more reason into the King than Jon Arryn ever could. And I'm saying I won't see Joffrey sitting on the throne.”

“I daresay Joffrey would call for a great number of heads only because he would be able to,” Ella said.

Ned took a deep breath. “How do I protect my son and good-daughter?”

Varys smiled. “I am very glad you asked.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the inspiration, my beloveds, don't forget to check the Gendrya sneak peak, which is set a few years into the future of this fic and therefore is filled with many spoilers!
> 
> For the record, I recommend utmost caution when dying your hair with chamomile tea – it does work when “activated” by the sun, but it can cause allergic reactions and it can destroy your hair if you don’t properly condition and hydrate it. So do some research before if you do intend to do it. And wait for summer!
> 
> Don't forget to comment and leave kudos :)


	23. 22 The Strength of a Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon discovers something about the past when Daenerys goes into labour. Ayla has an answer to Benjen and in King's Landing, Ned is moved by the news and dreads to inform the King that the Targaryen blood lives on, though Robert's reaction is not what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you enjoy the next chapter I'd like to share the amazing work of GreedofRage, who made a wonderful sketch of the sword Dany gives Jon before he leaves for the capital.  
> PS: if the image isn't showing it's because I apparently have no idea how to add it, so just open it in a new window or follow the link  
> https://multirandomness21.deviantart.com/art/Winter-Rose-Jon-s-Sword-731245438

 

**Chapter 22**

**The Strength of a Mother**

 

Jon threw yet another pebble at the lake, watching it as it skipped. As the weather cooled, the grass around him was beginning to frost, but the underground hot spring made the lake at the godswood so warm the surface was actually fogging up. He looked back when he heard footsteps and smiled when he saw who was coming.

“My wife sent you to drag me into the castle again?”

Ayla chuckled. “She wondered where you were. Again.”

“I needed to get out for a while.”

The woman took a deep breath, burrowing deeper in her cloak as she leaned against a big rock and settled for a long conversation. “Can I be nosy?”

“Can I ask why I am not calling you aunt yet?” Jon quipped back.

“That is not…” she started, blushing profusely.

“You heard that we approve and according to uncle Benjen you’ve been avoiding him since that day.”

She sighed. “I'm a commoner. I have no business meddling with lords.”

“I'm a bastard. Some lords and ladies would say I'm worse than a commoner, and I married a princess.”

“That was different,” Ayla muttered.

“Uncle Benjen is not set to be heir to anything. After all these years, it’s very unlikely any Houses would even consider him for a marriage alliance, what means he can marry whomever he chooses. He chose you. Don’t deny yourselves that.”

“That is not why I started this conversation,” Ayla said. “You won't avoid me for long.”

“I know,” Jon sighed, throwing the last pebble he had in his hand. He knew he had been stalling, however truthful his words were.

“Lady Starling says you haven’t been sleeping well. She is worried and she is hurt because you won't talk to her. So you can go up and speak to her, find your uncle to vent, or I shall be pestering until you tell me.”

Jon smiled, knowing perfectly well that it was _not_ an empty threat. “I… I guess I’m… I was scared to tell her.”

“Why?”

“My father… he told me about my mother.”

Ayla stiffened. “What did he tell you?”

“That I…” Jon looked away, his heart breaking with sorrow. “I killed her.”

It was a reflex. The slap snapped across the otherwise silent godswood. Ayla stood up straight, trembling with fury. Jon just stared at her, shocked, his cheek reddening.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you ever fucking dare to say these words again! You spit on her memory for even thinking it!”

“Why would you… wait, did you… did you _know_ her?” Jon asked and Ayla realised what she’d done, widening her eyes in panic, though she was still furious. Then she decided that the truth was half out anyway.

“You’ve always known you were born in the south. And that I'm not a Northerner.”

“So you knew her?”

“I told you once my former Lady was the kindest soul I have ever met, and I stand by that. She… when she found out you were growing inside her, she smiled as bright as the sun. When she felt you first stirring, she cried with joy.”

“You came north with… or did come after?”

“When… once she realised… she held you against her chest with every ounce of strength she had left,” she started, her eyes glazing over with tears and lost in the haze of the memories.

The winter roses scattered around the godswood only strengthened the feeling, their smell almost transporting her back to that far away room where tragedy had struck. Jon was fully focused on her, his heart beating painfully. All this time he had suffered unknowing, and Ayla held the truth that could soothe him. Someone other than his father that knew, not only her name, but _her_. A lady, a highborn, not some small-town whore or fisherman’s daughter like he had feared growing up.

“When her arms started to fail her she called me closer and put you in my arms,” Ayla continued her tale. “I had just… my little girl had gone just two days before, so she begged me to feed you and care for you like she wouldn’t be able to. She only rested when I agreed. A few minutes later your father arrived and she begged him to protect you, to keep you safe. I put you in his arms and she… she named you, and when she went, she was smiling at you.” Tears were running down both their faces. “She loved you so, so much,” Ayla said in a whisper. “Don’t… don’t poison that love.”

Jon nodded, accepting her hug freely when his tears started to come down harder.

“I'm terrified,” he confessed once he could talk through his sobs. “She died birthing me, and Queen Rhaella died birthing Dany. What if…?”

“I know,” Ayla said. “And I could say everything will be fine, but I can't — no one can promise you that.”

“Ayla! Ayla, you have to come quick!” Doreah came running, out of breath and with her cheeks red. “It’s time.”

“Towels,” the woman said. “Many, many towels, as many as you can get. And hot water, too. I’m on my way.”

The handmaiden nodded and ran away again. Jon frowned, confused.

“Time? Time for what?”

Ayla turned to him with a soft smile. “Time for you to become a father.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dusk became evening, then night, then dawn, then morning. Doreah had tried to keep Jon out of the room but, terrified as he was, he refused to be away from Dany. When the handmaiden insisted, he lost his patience.

“And how do you propose to keep me out?” he asked.

The young woman acquiesced and he burst into the room, panicking when he found Daenerys pacing. He went cold with dread when Ayla said it was time to push, and he was sure his hand would take quite some time to recover from the strength Dany was using to squeeze it, but he refused to complain. Not when she was in so much pain.

Finally, the sun was at the highest point in the sky when Daenerys fell back against Jon’s arms and a loud cry rang over the room. Ayla cradled the child, swaddling the baby in blankets. Jon carefully laid his exhausted wife on the bed and stood up from Dany’s side, walking over mesmerised.

“You have a daughter, my Lord,” Ayla said with a huge smile. “A little princess.”

Jon took her in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world. She had soft, wispy hair on top of her little head, as dark as his own, and a few curls could be seen. Then she blinked, opening her little eyes, and Jon felt her stealing his heart away from his chest. She had bright lilac eyes.

He smiled, tears rushing down his face like a river, and walked back to Daenerys’ side. He sat by the bed and put their baby girl over her chest. Dany weakly raised a hand, but Jon helped her support the child.

“We have a daughter, Dany.”

“She’s a wonder,” she croaked, her throat raw from all the screaming.

Jon smiled. “She takes after her mother.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla cleaned herself up and went to the family sitting room. Benjen, Sam, and Bran were there, with varying degrees of worry and anxiety.

“So?” Benjen demanded, the most worried and anxious.

“A little girl,” Ayla said and they exhaled in relief.

“Can we see her?” Bran asked, curious.

“Not right now,” Ayla answered with a smile. “They’ll have a rest before they can have visitors.”

They nodded and Sam started to push Bran out of the room, since the boy asked to go outside. She went to where Benjen was standing.

“Yes,” she said in a whisper, biting her lip nervously.

“Are you saying…?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you!”

She squealed in joy when he lifted her off her feet, twirling her in the air, before kissing her senseless when he put her back on her feet.

“Who do I thank for this marvellous change of heart?”

“Your grandniece,” Ayla answered, making him frown. “Holding her in my arms, bringing another child into this world, it just made me remember how life is so short. And I'm tired of living it alone.”

Benjen smiled. “The miracle of life.”

Her smile faltered. “I can't… I might be too old already. I can't promise to give you children.”

“I will rejoice if you do, but that’s not why I'm marrying you. You’re the first woman in all these years I have _wanted_ to marry. I… I have wanted to marry, to have a family, but before you, I didn’t find anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life.”

Ayla laughed. “I’ll remember you said that when you’re cross with me.”

Benjen joined her laughter.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Though Ayla stopped in to check on Daenerys a few times during the day, it wasn’t until the next morning that she and Benjen came in for a formal visit and to make the official announcement. The new parents were thrilled with the news.

“And what’s her name?” Benjen asked, holding his grandniece.

Jon exchanged a look with Daenerys before turning to Ayla. She stiffened when she understood his pleading look. “That is a question for your father.”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Jon implored, though he felt guilty when he saw her anguished face. “Why? What is so dangerous about her name?” Ayla closed her eyes, turning away from the conversation. Jon could sense her conflict. She _wanted_ to tell him. “Did you swear to silence?”

She nodded, and when she turned back her eyes were filled with tears. “To Lord Stark and to her, I vowed on my daughter’s memory that I would never tell a soul. Don’t ask me to tell you. Please,” she beseeched and Jon nodded.

“I suppose you don’t want to risk naming her for her _other_ grandmother,” Benjen asked, passing the child back to her mother.

“After the lengths Robert Baratheon went to to eliminate the Targaryen name? No, it’s safer if we don’t,” Daenerys said.

“Well, if you think so, and if you would still rather honour a family member, I do have a sister,” Benjen said and Ayla smiled at his ingenuity. “I am sure no one would question the homage.”

Dany smiled too. “Lyanna Starling. I like it.”

Jon smiled too, feeling his heart warm. “Now she’s a proper winter rose.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My dear father,_

_It is with the greatest delight that I announce the birth of your first grandchild and granddaughter, the Lady Lyanna of House Starling._ _I know your work keeps you in the capital, but we would be delighted to receive you, Arya, and Sansa to meet our daughter._

_It also pleases me to announce the betrothal between uncle Benjen and Ayla. The wedding is to take place in three moons’ time, as the bride insists that any sooner would disrupt her soon-to-be niece needlessly._

_All our love,_

_Ser Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Midnight Fortress and the Blessed Island_

 

Ella bit her lip for a moment, watching Ned go pale, then red, and finally purple. They were having luncheon in the Tower of the Hand when Ser Barristan brought a raven on the request of the Grand Maester. Finally, her curiosity got the best of her.

“What is it?”

“I… I am a grandfather,” he mumbled disbelievingly.

“Oh, my!” Ella gasped.

“How marvellous!” Sansa exclaimed.

“Lady Lyanna Starling,” Ned read, looking at Ella. “He named her Lyanna.” The woman smiled, but refrained from commenting, aware of the company.

“What else does it say?” Arya demanded. “When are we leaving?”

“Your uncle is getting married to Ayla, so we’ll go for the wedding. Well, you will certainly go, I hope the King will give me leave.”

The girls soon left the Small Hall, excitedly talking about the gifts they would bring the baby and the bride and groom, promising to meet Ella for their daily ride in three hour’s time.

Ser Barristan cleared his throat — he had a smile on his face. “Would you like me to inform His Grace, Lord Stark?”

“No! I’ll… I’ll do that myself. It's better that way.”

“The Grand Maester will have read the letter, or at least he'll know when you received it. The more you delay, the more Cersei will find suspicious.”

“Is the King in his chambers?”

“Yes, my Lord. At least that was were I left him before I surrendered my post to Ser Meryn.”

“Good. I'll go there presently.”

Ser Barristan nodded and left the room. Ned stared at the letter for another moment before looking up to Ella. She was clearly trying to contain a grin, but wasn’t very successful as her lips curved upwards.

“Don’t—” he started

“I'm not going to say anything!”

Ned exhaled, rolling his eyes at her antics. “This is dangerous!”

“You’re giving it too much power,” she said dismissively. “Jon doesn’t have a mother and Daenerys wouldn’t dare honour her own. So they chose to honour the closest female relative — Jon’s aunt, who died oh so tragically.”

“How do you weave theses tales so easily?”

She smiled. “A few years in King's Landing and you might learn a little bit of the game as well.”

“Doubtful. I'm not made for these games of politics.”

“You shouldn’t have become a player then.”

Ned ignored her. “Benjen should have…”

“You said Benjen has advocated more than once for telling the truth. I think it more likely Benjen and Ayla helped it happen. And on that note, will you allow the wedding? As your younger brother and in the absence of your father, Benjen needs your permission.”

“Of course I’ll allow it. Ayla is trustworthy — Lya–” he cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t have trusted her otherwise. And if this is what Benjen wants, he shall have it.”

“You still blame Brandon, don’t you?”

Ned sighed. “I do. He was my brother and I loved him, and I miss him terribly. But I will never quite forgive him for saying he would talk to Father and never give me leave to marry you.”

“You know why Brandon did that. Because he was being forced into an arranged marriage and he wanted to spread the misery.”

“My father was the one who set everything up to fail with his ambitions and—”

“Alright, I'm stopping you now. It's in the past, we can't change it now and it's useless to cry over the spilled wine.” Ella stated.

“I don't like this,” he complained, standing up. “I hate politics and I hate lying.”

“You came to the wrong place, then.”

“Robert needs me here,” Ned said uneasily.

“Stop thinking about Robert for a minute, and—”

“He is my King.”

Ella was growing frustrated. “You sat him in the bloody chair and you kept him there even when you knew there was a better contender.”

“And now we’re plotting…”

“We’re not plotting to overthrow him and you know that. You fought a war to avenge your father and brother and to protect this realm from the madness of an unfit king. We’re doing it again. It just so happens we don’t have swords in our hands and we’re plotting to prevent an unfit ruler to even sit on the throne.”

“It’s not honourable.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because the way I see it, Joffrey has no right to the throne. Stannis might win a fight for the crown, but he’d be an unpopular, unloved, and terrible king. Renly would keep a better grasp on finances and governing than Robert, but he doesn't have the guts to keep the kingdoms in hand. And let’s not even delve into the very, very long line of Robert’s bastards.”

He exhaled. “What if Jon doesn't want to be king?”

“He was born the King. He was born Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name. He just doesn’t know it.”

“This… this moving in shadows, it’s wrong, Ashara!”

“Ned, please, you’re losing it! Regardless of having proof or not, if you go to Robert right now to tell him of the children’s true paternity, he’ll most likely believe you and call for their heads — he loves and trusts you and he’s got no love lost for Cersei. Plus, people have gossiped for years that the King’s children don’t have one single Baratheon trait. And Joffrey may be evil and cruel, but not even he deserves to be killed for this.”

“I could ask Cersei to—”

Ella looked at him unbelieving. “We already know of at least one time Cersei’s tried to kill Robert, and we have more than enough reason to suspect they’ve plotted Jon Arryn’s murder. You tell her you know of her infidelity, that you’re going to tell Robert, and she won’t flee the capital for the safety of Casterly Rock. She’ll kill Robert under our noses and manoeuvre herself as Regent, most likely plotting your arrest for treason in the same stride.”

“She wouldn't dare.”

“You severely underestimate the lengths a mother would go to protect her family and the lengths a Lannister would go to protect their power. They’ve been plotting and plotting since Tywin was Hand to Aerys, and while he failed to marry Cersei to Rhaegar, he did end up managing to install her as queen. Do not — and please, listen to me on this: do not go against the Lannisters expecting anyone in this city to side with you because it is the right thing to do. You will only lose your head and endanger your daughters.”

“I'm tired. Tired of the backstabbing and backroom deals.”

“That is what happens when a fool is sitting on the throne and the Lannisters have run of the continent. Are you sure plotting against it wouldn’t be the most honourable?”

Ned didn’t have an answer to that.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned waited with growing unease as the five women lounging about the King’s bedchamber put their clothes to some semblance of propriety and left the room. Robert was in high spirits, laughing and completely unconcerned about the level of reproach his debauchery incited.

“And what brings my best friend to this side of the castle?!”

“I wasn’t aware you were otherwise occupied,” Ned said, declining the offer of iced wine. “I just received a raven and I thought to come and share my happiness.”

“I'm never too busy for you, Ned, you know that! And given your yellow smile… or are you just frowning at my company?”

The last woman left and the door was closed behind her. “Honestly, Robert, do you have to insult your wife so openly?”

The King snorted. “Cersei is a frigid prude, Ned. We can’t stand one another.” Ned flinched at his nonchalance. “It would be different if… if I were married to someone I loved and who loved me back.”

 _Oh, you poor, deluded fool…_ Ned thought. _Robert isn't capable of keeping to one bed,_ he remembered Lyanna saying, on the very same night she yelled and screamed and cursed their father for accepting the betrothal. _As soon as the thrill fades he will leave me to be the proper lady in the castle and run to whichever whore opens her legs for him at a given night._

“But tell me,” the other man continued, clueless as to his friend’s reminiscence. “What are these news you wanted to share? A raven from Winterfell?”

“From the Midnight Fortress, actually. I am a grandfather.”

There was a flickering of warring emotions on Robert’s face before he finally opened a genuine smile. “Congratulations, my friend! Seven hells, grandfather you say! Jon is a fine young man and he deserves it! So, has the dragon spawn given him a son?”

“Robert, please. I’ve raised that girl like a daughter. Calling her dragon spawn only brings back sore feelings we would all be better off forgetting. She is a daughter of the North and the Targaryen name is dead.”

Robert grimaced, but conceded the point. “Very well, I shall attempt to keep that in mind. But tell me, has Lady Starling given her husband a son?”

“A daughter, actually,” Ned said, bracing himself for the explosion. “Lady Lyanna Starling.”

Robert didn't disappoint, crushing his goblet in his fist and going as red as a tomato. “Why?” he asked and the anger was palpable in his deep and grave voice.

“My son doesn't have a mother. But he wanted to honour his aunt, because he knows how much I love her. My children know how beloved she was, Robert, and the tragedy surrounding her death.”

The King seethed for long moments, before going slack on his chair. “A little winter rose. It is fitting, in the end. I guess I let that monster spoil the flower for me, but I should have remembered they were her favourite for a reason.” Ned opted to stay quiet. “She was the most beautiful girl around, and she was to be mine. And oh, I would have given her the world! He had the throne, and he even had a fucking wife already, and even he fell in love with her. _The day the smiles died_ , a fool sung in Court once. He never set foot in King’s Landing again and I broke his fucking harp for good measure. How dare he, to come here, to mock me, and playing a harp to top it.” Robert sighed deeply. “All I got in the end was his throne. But what is the point, if I couldn't save her? If I couldn't crown her _my_ queen? A bloody chair that brings me headache and no joy. I killed him, Ned. I killed him and still he won.” Robert sighed deeply, his face betraying a sad, tired man who saw no future for himself.

Ned continued silent. _You don’t even imagine how he won, my friend,_ he thought.

“Even my son!” Robert exclaimed. “My first born, my heir, and he is a fucking monster as well!”

 _I curse him,_ Ned remembered Lyanna had whispered with wavering strength, clutching Jon’s little hand in hers. _As he’s taken my husband from me, as he’s taken my son from me, as he is condemning my son to the life of an orphan, fearing for his safety, I curse him. Robert Baratheon will never see a son of his grow up, he will never live to be proud of a son of his blood. His life will be empty of joy and purpose and he will come to despise the throne he stole in the height of his hubris!_

 _You underestimate the lengths a mother would go to to protect her family,_ Ella had just said. Ned was unsure of what to say.

“You said yourself in Winterfell, Robert: the children are young. We can council Joffrey.”

But the King only grimaced, his mood darkening. “No, that kind of rotten fruit can’t be salvaged. Did you know that when he was a kid, he killed a cat? Some fool in the kitchens told him the cat was pregnant, probably thinking the Prince might take a kitten for a pet. But Joffrey didn't have the patience to wait. He got a dagger and cut the poor animal open. To ‘see what was inside, my royal father’, the little shit said when he brought me the bloody dead kitten. I told him it was wrong, but the boy wouldn't see it. Said he was a prince, and I a king, and we might do as we pleased for dumb animals only deserved to live if we allowed them to. I beat him so hard I knocked two of his baby teeth out. Cersei wasn’t pleased and she even threatened me. I could barely look at the boy again. And then he did that… that _atrocity_ at Winterfell, and again he can’t see what is wrong since Lady Starling is his subject and his to do with as he pleases, he says. No, he can never be taught. He will not learn.”

Ned felt a shiver go down his spine. “Robert, what are you saying?”

“I don't know anymore,” Robert said miserably. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, love, and kudos are always welcome :)


	24. 23 The Banished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Red Keep, the King and Queen have their own reaction to the recent birth, while Ned and Ella talk about Robert's confession. In Riverrun, Catelyn is forced to confront her action and accept their consequences, while in Highgarden another plot takes root.

**Chapter 23**

**The Banished**

Ella exploded in laughter, actually grabbing the tabletop to help her keep her balance.

“It is not funny,” Ned grumpily insisted, but she wasn’t vexed.

“Oh, you’re right, this is fucking hilarious!” she insisted. Ned huffed and went to his chair. “Robert Baratheon, the King Who Doesn’t Know!”

“Don’t gloat,” he grumbled.

She finally controlled her laughter, sitting back on a chair across from him. “I'm sorry, I can see you're distressed. But you have to admit it’s ironic.”

Ned let out a deep breath. “I know Robert is not a good king. Doesn't mean I'm comfortable plotting against him.”

“For the hundredth time, we’re not plotting against him. We are merely in possession of knowledge that proves that Robert has no trueborn children of his own, since the three he has claimed before the realm are a product of an incestuous affair between his wife and her twin brother.”

“The law of succession—”

“Can we not discuss this again tonight? You just got news of your granddaughter, enjoy it. Go talk to your daughters, be merry!” Ella said, tired of the same argument. Ned nodded and started to stand up before she remembered another thing. “Did you ask Robert for leave to go to Benjen’s wedding?”

“Yes. He said that as long as I took a boat I could go, but that I couldn't be away long enough to go by land.”

“Wonderful,” Ella said with a smile. “It's been too long since I've last been on a ship. I miss the sea.”

Ned was less than pleased. Wolves should stay on dry land.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Cersei made the way to Robert’s chambers slowly, still debating whether or not she should even be going. Maybe he'd gotten himself lost in drink already, in which case she wanted nothing more than to stay clear. But her curiosity burned. She wanted to know what news from the Midnight Fortress were so important that warranted an immediate visit from the Lord Hand to the King.

She found Robert deep in his cups already, though he wasn’t cheerful or violent, as it was his usual. He was melancholic.

“Word around the castle is that Ned Stark had urgent news for the King. It doesn’t seem they were nice ones,” she said.

“Did you come to gloat?” Robert mumbled.

Cersei raised an eyebrow. “It depends on what I am gloating about.”

“The girl has given birth,” Robert answered, downing his goblet.

Cersei waited for him to continue, but he just refilled his goblet. “Well, you knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Do you regret having her married? I told you, you should have sent her to a sept.”

“I had already decreed the betrothal.”

“I'm sure Lord Stark would have understood. So, we have a new Targaryen in the world?”

“Starling!” Robert exclaimed, punching the tabletop. “Targaryens are dead. And I won't have her name associated with that foul!”

“Her name?”

Robert downed another cup and hiccupped as he answered. “Lady Lyanna Starling.” And he poured himself another drink.

Cersei stopped for a moment. _Oh, the deliciousness of the irony_ , she thought. _A child of Targaryen blood named Lyanna, and under the sigil of the winter rose no less_. “What was she like?” she finally asked.

Robert gave her an inquisitive look. “You've never asked about her, not once. Why not?”

She shrugged. “At first, just saying her name, even in private, felt like I was breathing life back into her. I thought if I didn't talk about her, she'd just fade away for you. When I realised that wasn't going to happen, I refused to ask out of spite. I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I cared enough to ask. And eventually it became clear that my spite didn't mean anything to you. As far as I could tell, you actually enjoyed it.”

“So why now?”

“What harm could Lyanna Stark's ghost do to either of us that we haven't done to each other a hundred times over?” Cersei asked, and Robert felt a shiver go down his spine. Suddenly the room was chilled, as if said ghost was passing through.

He set his goblet on the table and sighed deeply, letting the weariness wash over him, too tired to pretend. “You want to know the horrible truth? I can't even remember what she looked like. I only know she was the one thing I ever wanted… Someone took her away from me, and Seven Kingdoms couldn't fill the hole she left behind.”

Cersei clenched her jaw. _I can't even remember what she looked like_. She wanted to punch Robert. _Entitled, arrogant, hot-tempered male!_ she cursed in her mind. _You never loved her! You only loved the idea of her! And then she was taken and that is why you were fixated. Because you were told you couldn’t have her! A child being denied a toy!_

“I felt something for you once, you know?” she confessed, tired of pretension as well.

“I know,” Robert said quietly.

“Even after we lost our first boy — for quite a while, actually. Was it ever possible for us? Was there ever a time, ever a… moment?”

“No,” Robert confessed truthfully. “Does that make you feel better or worse?”

“It doesn't make me feel anything,” she said, the picture of indifference, setting her goblet on the desk and turning around.

Inside, she was screaming.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon was on the nursery’s balcony, holding his daughter in his arms as he showed her the lands and ocean stretched before them. The sun was setting just beyond what they could see, so the sky was painted with the colours of dusk.

“Are you showing her the world?” Daenerys asked softly, joining them.

“She is amazed by it,” Jon answered with a smile. “And I am amazed by her.”

Dany smiled. “How can someone so small change our world so much?”

Jon shrugged. “Are you feeling better?”

“Stop fussing. I’m perfectly fine!”

“It’s only been a few days, Dany, you should…”

“Ayla said I should walk about, just care not to exert myself.”

“I hated how much pain you were in…”

She smiled, softly caressing the baby’s hair. “It was worth it. So worth it.”

“Worth it enough to go through it again?”

“Worth it enough to go through it as many times as the gods see fit to bless us.”

Keeping Lyanna carefully cradled in one arm, Jon passed another arm around Daenerys, kissing her temple lovingly, and locking them in a family embrace as day became night.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Cersei’s handmaidens knew better than to be around when their queen was having one of her fury attacks. They saw her stormy face after visiting the King and, after making sure she wanted nothing, made themselves scarce as quickly as they could. The woman yelled out, throwing vases and ripping fabrics, as was her habit when this upset.

 _I can't even remember what she looked like. I only know she was the one thing I ever wanted… Someone took her away from me, and Seven Kingdoms couldn't fill the hole she left behind._ Robert’s voice echoed in her head.

She remembered, like yesterday, the day the smiles died. How Rhaegar had taken off his helmet, letting his long silver hair cascade down. He was beautiful, the most beautiful man to ever walk this earth, and he would have been hers, if his father weren’t mad. He had refused every advance, citing his marriage and his vows to Elia Martell, and then when he won the tourney he crowned _her_ his Queen of Love and Beauty. The Rose of Winterfell. Like Robert, Rhaegar’s head had been turned by the little minx, the little pretty whore.

When they ran off — and Cersei didn’t believe for one moment _Rhaegar Targaryen_ would kidnap a girl and rape her (not that Lyanna Stark would have needed to be kidnapped to go with the prince). But when they ran off, her Silver Prince immediately forgot his marriage, his vows to Elia Martell, his own children. What magic did Lyanna Stark work, to turn the head of these men? Why was Robert so fixated with her, even almost two decades later?

“You’re dead,” she whispered. “You are dead, Lyanna. I won. You tried to ensnare Rhaegar, and you got both of you killed. You are dead and I am alive and I am the Queen.”

Cersei looked at the broken vases, the flowers scattered all around.

“Bernadette!” she called and a moment later the handmaiden came in. “Tell the gardeners to burn all roses. Especially whatever winter roses they have stored anywhere. No one in this castle will see another rose.”

The girl nodded and left, not even blinking at the odd request.

“No more roses,” Cersei muttered. “Be them from Winterfell or from anywhere else. Lyanna Stark is dead.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn squared her shoulders and took a last fortifying breath before entering her father’s solar. She and Edmure had arrived in Riverrun the day before, but Hoster had sent her to her room to rest so they could talk refreshed in the morning. She guessed he was still weary of her previous escape, because there were two guards guarding her door and dogging her every step.

“Sit down, Catelyn,” the Lord of Riverrun said as soon as she walked in. “We have much to discuss.” She obeyed, sitting in a chair across from his desk next to Edmure. Uncle Brynden was standing by the window, looking at the winding river bellow. “I had a very interesting conversation with Ned Stark.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You went to King's Landing.”

“I did. I needed to know why he would send you back, information you didn’t seem keen on sharing. And now I know why.” Catelyn remained silent. “Your uncle has been pestering me for a fortnight, since my return, to share this news, and your brother is also ignorant. Why don’t you tell us and I shall see how truthful your husband was?”

“After spending three moons in the Midnight Fortress one does not need to be too smart to put together it involved the Starlings,” Edmure said. “They hate her, and even Robb seemed unhappy with his own mother.”

“Yes, I dare say so,” Hoster conceded displeased. “Very well, Catelyn. Confess your sins.”

“My husband brought a bastard from the war, as well as the daughter of the tyrant he fought to depose, and asked me to foster them both. Surely I shouldn’t have been expected to rejoice.”

“No, no one would ever expect you to rejoice,” Hoster said. “But once the King declared the betrothal your husband had no choice, so you should have fulfilled your duty with grace.”

“He would have brought the boy home and forced me to look at him every day regardless.”

“Perhaps. It was an insult anyway, to claim a bastard he sired at war while you stayed home carrying his heir.”

“But not an insult to sire the bastard?” Catelyn asked furiously.

“Men have bastards, my dear daughter, it is the way of the world. Half the ladies endure as much, the other half only pretend otherwise. But you didn’t endure it gracefully, did you?”

“You can't mean that you expected me to love the boy!”

“Be sensible, Catelyn!” Hoster snapped. “You should have ignored him, let servants care for him, leave him with a limited budget, obviously, never let him have as much or as good as Robb, but you descended below the acceptable!”

“He deserved nothing!”

“Once the King decreed the betrothal,” Brynden finally spoke out, “you had to have realised that meant the boy would be Robb’s bannerman one day. You should have fostered a brotherly love between them, making sure the boy followed his future liege in everything. It sounds like that is not what you did.”

“Tell your uncle what you have done for the past fifteen years, Catelyn,” Hoster ordered.

“He is a bastard. Why does he get to marry a princess? Daughter of a mad man she might be, but she is royalty and…”

“Deposed royalty,” the Blackfish said, “and she only lived because Robert Baratheon decided to shame her by marrying her to a bastard. Didn’t you hear what happened to the other Targaryens? Do you really think our new King would have allowed her to marry the heir of a Great House?”

Catelyn blushed. Why couldn’t any of them understand? “The boy has a House, a highborn wife, good lands to farm, and I heard he even found mines…”

“He did,” Hoster said. “People in the capital are beyond excited with the new winter diamond. And the boy made a wonderful first impression, saving Ser Loras Tyrell from Ser Gregor Clegane and getting himself knighted in the process.”

“See! This is exactly what I mean!” Catelyn was trembling in anger. “He will rise against—”

“Enough with the bastard, Catelyn!” Hoster snapped, cutting her off. “A man’s true character is dictated by his actions. I may not like the boy and his very existence is an insult to you and to our House, and much more because of how much Ned Stark loves him and is proud to call him son. However, he does not seem the type to want to trample his half-brother.”

“I have to agree,” Edmure said. “I saw how the bastard and his wife were with Robb and Bran. Whatever he is, he is loyal to Robb.”

“None of this explains why Catelyn is not in Winterfell right now,” Brynden said, seeing no point in continuing with that line of conversation.

Hoster urged his daughter once more, and she finally told the story of what had led her to her exile.

“Ned Stark had a detail or other more here and there, but in the end he said the truth. How could I argue with him, Catelyn? After all this, how could I question his decision to send you away?”

“All I did was thinking about the well-being of my family.”

“Did you?” Hoster asked. “Well, you failed. Your husband caught you in your wickedness and exiled you. And from what your brother said, you got yourself exiled from the Blessed Island as well. Honestly, Catelyn, what possessed you?”

“The girl is my ward and it was the food being served to my sick son.”

“The girl _was_ your ward until the moment they got married. Not anymore.” The Blackfish said.

“Your actions are reproachable, my daughter, and much more when you add to the rest you had already done.”

“What is to happen to me?” Catelyn demanded. “Am I to live out the rest of my days here in exile from my rightful place? I am Lady Stark, I am the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Your husband has exiled you, don’t push him to forget his beloved honour and set you aside completely. As to your future, I have yet to decide.”

And with that the conversation was over.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Mace Tyrell knocked on the door to his mother’s solar anxiously. “Mother? There’s a raven from Loras.”

“Is it about the plan?”

“Yes, Mother. He says Renly was unable to convince the King. He asks whether they should keep trying.”

Olenna sat back in her chair, deep in thought for a moment. “No, no they shouldn’t. It was always a long shot, anyway. Besides, even if Robert does set Cersei aside, there’s the matter of the three little golden stags — if they are stags at all — and I don’t see us getting rid of them. No, Margaery would be nothing more than a mistress elevated to wife while Cersei’s children remained as heirs.”

“There is no other alliance so good,” Mace said.

“Yes, well, there is only one king… but there is one alliance that seems to be almost as good. It doesn’t bring a crown, but it might put us in a very advantageous position.”

“What do you mean? You can't mean Joffrey.”

“No, no, of course not. Joffrey assaulted Daenerys Targaryen in the halls of Winterfell while a feast was expecting them, it’s only a matter of time before he does another barbarity and gets himself excluded from the succession.”

“Tommen then?”

“Too young. Besides, if Cersei loses, it’ll be a liability.”

“Loses? Loses what?”

“A war. The Lannisters have been poking the dragon, and my spies in Casterly Rock tell me Tywin is plotting something against the Starlings. If war breaks, the Tyrells will stand where they always stood.

“But no one has heard of Viserys Targaryen in years! And until war does break—”

“My dear son, sometimes I do fear you were dropped on your head when you were a baby. We’re setting up alliances, and Margaery’s wedding is a powerful one, therefore if I can't have a crown I will look for a Great House. Now if you excuse me, I must find my handmaiden and have her start preparations. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Mace watched Olenna leave, befuddled. _What?_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

A few days later, Catelyn was melancholically staring out her window when her uncle came to visit.

“I came to say goodbye,” Brynden said. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Must you really leave?”

“I must. I came because the family had need of me, but now that everything is settled, I must return to my post. Your father and I in the same castle is a recipe for disaster.”

“I shall miss you, uncle.”

“I shall miss you too, my dearest niece. Though don’t tell your sister.”

Catelyn chuckled. “I was afraid I was no longer your favourite.”

Brynden sighed and sat next to her. “You will always be my favourite, Cat. Lysa is… Lysa is complicated. But I won't deny I am deeply disappointed.”

“I was only trying to protect my family.”

“Family, duty, honour,” he recited. “You focused on the first and forgot the other two. Just because your husband failed in his duty to honour his vows to you, it did not give you cause to fail in your duty and your honour.”

She sighed, biting back tears. “I can’t… I can’t live here in exile for the rest of my days. My place is in Winterfell.”

Brynden looked out the window, seeing the beautiful landscape they had both grown up with. “There are worse places to be exiled at, Cat. At least you’re home.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

After breakfast, Catelyn watched her uncle go up on to his horse and lead his small group out of the portcullis. No one could survive the Highroad alone, regardless of being an excellent and skilled fighter.

It was mid-afternoon when Hoster Tully summoned his daughter to his solar and told her what he intended to do with her. Then she understood why he’d waited for his brother to leave.

“You cannot do this!” Catelyn yelled, tears rushing to her eyes.

“I can and I will. Your husband has made it clear he will never allow your return to Winterfell, especially after your latest defiance, your little escape to the Blessed Island. I won't have a disgraced daughter. Ned Stark is the Hand of the King, living it well in the capital and it won't be long before he finds a lowlife strumpet to warm his bed and give you yet another bastard to cry over. You’re better off in a sept.”

“What of my children? What of my life?”

“Your _life_? You threw away your life when you let your husband catch you in your wickedness! He said that if you couldn’t stand by your own crimes then it was further proof you would never be allowed to return to his side or his home. Your life is over, Catelyn.”

“And my children? What of their place?”

“Won't be harmed whatsoever. Robb remains heir to Winterfell and nothing can take it from him.”

“Don’t do this, Father, I beg of you!”

“Your begging will do you no good. I’ve made the arrangements in the capital, you leave at first light.”

“My uncle will never—”

“Your uncle left for the Eyrie. By the time he gets there, hear the news, and comes back you will be long gone. And he won't be able to reach you before you’re taken before the gods.”

“Father, please!” Catelyn was sobbing now.

“I won't have you here saddling me with shame and expense! I have made my decision! Palo! Escort the Lady Catelyn to her room! You better pack your things Catelyn, or I will drag you to the carriage with nothing!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon had thought of having a tourney, so he could invite all the lords in the realm and introduce them to the winter diamond, as well as the fine jewellery they were producing. Benjen had posed the question to Ayla and she had immediately insisted they have that and their wedding at the same occasion.

“Your wedding is more important,” Daenerys said.

“Well, yes,” the bride agreed, “but some of the lords will be here already and it makes no sense to have them travel twice. Besides, the expense of hosting two such events so close together is an unnecessary extravagance.”

Like that, it was decided and they asked Maester Wolkan to send ravens to all the great and major Houses as well as anyone with enough money to spend. Jon, Sam, and Benjen immediately went on planning the security precautions they would need to take, especially as it regarded the mines themselves.

That afternoon, Jon left matters of business aside and gathered the recent delivery, crossing the way to the nursery. Daenerys was inside, finishing feeding Lyanna and already dressed for her riding lessons.

“What is that?” she asked seeing the package in Jon’s hands.

“A ragdoll,” he said, pulling the wrapping tissue. “One of the women in the village came from King's Landing and said her grandmother used to make these. She sent it as a present for Lya, as a thank you for the opportunity for a better job. Ayla inspected every inch of the toy and declared it is safe.”

Dany smiled. “Ayla is like a mother hen sometimes.”

Jon bit his lip, giving the doll to their daughter. Lyanna grabbed onto the toy strongly and didn’t release it. Finally he decided had put it off long enough, that there had been enough time passed since the birth, Daenerys was perfectly fine, and there was no reason to worry about jinxing it.

“Ayla is true to her word. She promised to take care of me, I guess that extends to you and Lyanna now.”

Daenerys frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When I… I didn’t want to tell you because… because I was terrified it might make it happen.”

“This is what has been bothering you since you’ve returned from King's Landing, isn't it?”

“Aye,” Jon confessed. “The day Lya was born, Ayla went after me in the godswood and pestered me until I told her.”

“This is about more than her simply knowing your mother’s name, isn't it? She worked for your mother.”

He smiled. “I should’ve guessed you’d put it together.”

Dany reached for his hand. “If Ayla made such a promise, then followed you from Dorne all the way to Winterfell and you were so terrified of telling me, then…”

Jon nodded. “She died in childbed. She asked Ayla to care for me, and because her daughter had gone just days before, to be my wet-nurse as well. Then she begged my father to protect me and, according to them, she died saying how much she loved me.”

“Of course she did.”

He let one tear escape. “I can't help but think I k—”

“Shhh! Don’t say that, my love. I… for years on end I felt like I had killed my mother as well, and that she must hate me for it. But then… then I felt her growing inside me. You said she opened her eyes and she stole your heart away. Imagine feeling her growing inside me, knowing we created her together and I'm nourishing her to a baby capable of living on her own. If death was the price I had to pay to birth her, it would have been a worthy trade.”

Lyanna gurgled, demanding their attention and breaking the tense moment. A few minutes later, Daenerys sighed.

“Are you going to be alright? I can stay in today.”

“No, no, I'm fine. I'll stay here with Lyanna a bit longer and she'll distract me. How are you liking the new handmaiden?”

She smiled. “Very well, thank you. She is a wonderful rider and she's been teaching me Dothraki as well.”

Jon didn't like that, remembering what had led Irri to the Seven Kingdoms and later up to the Blessed Island. “Why do you need to learn that?”

“I don't,” Daenerys said, giving him a look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking about. “I will never need to speak Dothraki. But I like to learn it.”

“Even at the same time as Valyrian?”

“Oh yes, they're both very different. It's no trouble at all.”

Jon chuckled at her. A few minutes later Doreah came and said Irri was already waiting for Daenerys with their horses, so she put their daughter in his arms, kissed her forehead, his cheek, and left the room. Jon took the place at the armchair, rocking the baby in his arms, letting her beautiful lilac eyes soothe his troubled mood.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	25. 24 Count Thy Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn arrives in King's Landing and is faced with a decision, and so is Ned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to briefly say that, though I didn’t think of it at the time, I have now realised that the ragdoll from last chapter got a lot of people nervous since it was what happened to poor Princess Shireen. But don’t worry! Baby Lya is safe, nothing will happen to her! The doll is completely harmless and only a well-intentioned gift! Now on to the chapter :)

**Chapter 24**

**Count Thy Blessings**

 

Catelyn ran through the crowded and dirty streets of King’s Landing. She had managed to ditch her guards near the Sept of Baelor, now all she had to do was cross the length of the city to the Tower of the Hand. There, she would—

“Catelyn!” called a voice, making her run faster. “Cat! Wait!”

“Petyr!” she exhaled in relief when she recognised him as he caught her arm. “How did you find me?”

“I’ve known you were coming for weeks, ever since your father spoke with the High Septon while he was in the city. A bunch of children blocked my way to your carriage, but I have people distracting your guards. Come, come with me in my litter, I’ll take you to the Tower of the Hand.”

“If the guards find us…” she started, but followed him anyway.

“They won't. Well, in a few moments they’ll certainly notice you’re gone and it won't take too much genius to know where. But I’ve set people on the way to delay them. You should be able to reach Lord Stark and then they wouldn’t dare storm the room.”

“My father can't do this. Can he?”

Littlefinger sighed. “If he has your custody… I mean, you hold no titles in your own right, Cat. If Ned Stark sends you to your father, then your father may do this. Legally, I mean. I only wish… if I could, Cat, I would take you without hesitation. There is no castle I can offer, but you would want for nothing, that I promise.”

“I can't be parted from my children, Petyr. I just can’t.”

Littlefinger nodded. He knew that would be her response. The high and mighty Catelyn Tully would never accept to live a less than honourable and great life. She fidgeted all the way to their destination and was nearly crying when they arrived. He stayed outside, knowing his presence wouldn’t be welcome and would most likely hinder the conversation more than help.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla walked into the room to find Daenerys standing by a table, looking over several samples of fabric with Doreah, Irri, and another woman.

“Oh, Ayla! Good, you're here!” Daenerys said excited. “I'd like you to meet Kira, she is the new castle seamstress. She brought all these samples to see if you'd like any for your wedding dress.”

“My… I can make my own wedding dress!”

“Of course you can,” Daenerys said, having expected the reaction. “I just meant that she brought the fabrics and some new ideas that might be worth looking at. And she'd be able to help you however you can.”

“I was a third seamstress in King’s Landing, Lady Ayla,” Kira said. “I've made several fine dresses for the ladies of the Court. I dare say you won't like anything as flimsy as those empty-headed girls, but there's nothing wrong with a pretty dress.”

“I'm not a lady.”

“You will be soon enough,” Daenerys quipped and Ayla blushed. “Let's just hear what she has to say, see the samples, and if you want to get married in your current dress I won't complain. Much.”

Chuckling, the bride decided to humour her lady.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn was led to the solar by Jory, who had promptly closed his face in an unreadable mask when he saw her. “Lady Catelyn Tully,” the Captain of the Guard announced as he opened the door and she clenched her jaw. She and Ned were still married before the King and before the gods. She was still Catelyn Stark.

“What in the gods names—” Ned started as she walked in, anger welling within him.

“My father means to force me to become a septa,” she declared, not beating around the bush. Jory widened his eyes and rushed out.

Ned frowned, sitting back. “Why?”

“To dissolve our marriage.”

“Why?” he asked again, even more confused.

“Well, apparently you have convinced him you’re never taking me back.”

“I told you as much before you left Winterfell. But I would never force you to do this. If it is what you wish, then I won't stop you, but I would never force this on you.”

“That I believe. Please, Ned. Please, for any affection you ever bore me, don’t allow him to do this.”

Ned sighed, standing up and staring out the window for a few moments. “I won't allow you to return to Winterfell,” he said and Catelyn felt her tears come unbidden. “What I can do for you, in the name of our children, is find a household for you to live in the North.”

“For me to rot you mean!” she sobbed. “Please, Ned, Robb knows what I have done and Arya and Sansa are here. The boy is in his new fancy castle. Bran and Rickon need me. I won't…”

“I won't have you in Winterfell, Catelyn, I have said it already! I don’t trust you, not anymore. I can set you up in a comfortable residence and I will allow the children to visit you, always chaperoned—”

“Chaperoned? I'm their mother!”

“And you prayed for my son’s and granddaughter’s deaths! I can't trust you! Who is to say what nonsense you’ll whisper in our children’s ears? What empty airs you will blow into their heads? Did you know that Sansa was being laughed at in Court because of her silly notions of songs and princes and knights? That Arya thought herself as ugly and silly and dumb, that she would never be happy because she wasn't a proper southern lady interested only in sewing pretty dresses and praying?” Ned exclaimed and she blushed. “This is what I can offer you, Catelyn.”

“Is this about the damned letter?” she asked weakly. “What difference would it have made to show you?”

“Me? By the time you showed it to me I don’t know what difference it would have made, honestly. But… if you had given it to my father, he wouldn’t have followed Brandon to King's Landing. I think… my brother was probably lost already, and out of his own folly, but my father would have looked at it differently. It might have saved him and Lyanna. And that is what I cannot forgive.”

Catelyn nodded, her lips trembling as her tears fell. “I will… I will not go to a hut to freeze.”

“You offend me if you think I would be so unkind. I won't give you Winterfell, but I won't set you in a room to freeze.”

“You would part me from my children!”

“ _Our_ children. Arya and Sansa were always coming with me, and Bran too, before… it is not my fault Robb won't receive you.”

“I have no interest in your offer.”

“Then there is nothing I can do for you,” he said and his tone was final.

Catelyn looked at him, no more fresh tears falling. “Then I suppose this is the last time we will speak. At least for a long while.”

“If you do this, it will be your own choice, Catelyn.”

“I will not go to a decrepit hut to live in shame. If I'm condemned, then I will serve my sentence with my gods.”

“As you wish. I will see if the girls are in their rooms.”

“I can talk to them?”

“Yes. Jory and Poole will stand as chaperones.”

“Ned!” she called as he reached the door. “By tomorrow, you will be free of our marriage vows.”

“By your own wish, Catelyn.”

“Will you take another wife?”

“I have not betrayed you. But that is not an answer you can compel from me.” He left the study quickly, telling Jory his instructions and almost marching to the room he wanted.

“Ned!” Ella gasped, startled. “What in heavens…?”

But he cut her off, crossing the room and pulling her against himself and kissing her fiercely. Shocked as she was, she was stunned for a beat before she melted into his arms, surrendering to the attack from his lips. When they ran out of breath Ned broke their embrace.

“Marry me?”

Ella blinked. “Ned, did you drink? Are you sick? You know we can't!”

He smiled. “Catelyn is joining the Faith. She will become a septa and therefore our marriage will be dissolved. So,” he went down on one knee, “will you, Ella, Lady Ashara of House Dayne, marry me?”

She laughed and sobbed at the same time. “Yes. Yes, I will! You're not escaping me this time!”

He laughed, going back to his feet. “I love you,” he declared, bending down for another kiss.

Life had kept them apart for nearly eighteen years, so it was with near desperation that their hands ran along the other’s body, pulling laces and tugging at fabric. Ned slowed down as he fingered her stretch marks, knowing well what they represented.

“I… it might not happen,” she whispered, all fire calmed. “Or if it does… maybe it won't work out again.”

“Shh… we have each other. We will never be parted again. This is enough.”

She smiled and their lips sealed in another kiss, the fire kindling again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sansa frowned as Catelyn explained why she was in King's Landing. “But why? You’re the Lady of Winterfell!”

“I don’t think your father and I will live together again, my dear.”

“Why? I thought you were only visiting Grandfather!”

“And then Grandfather came here to visit Father for fun?” Arya asked. “Why did Father get so mad at you, Mother?”

“Mad? Why would Father be mad? They are married, they love each other.”

“Don’t be stupid, Sansa!”

“Girls, girls!” Catelyn cut in. “Your father sent me to—” Jory cleared his throat so she started again. “Whatever happened between your father and I, it does not change how I feel about you. But this is what is best for me.”

“But you are the Lady of Winterfell!” Sansa insisted. “You married into a Great House! Why would you ever give such a position up?”

“Your father is Hand of the King and living in the capital while I'm at Riverrun. Soon enough Robb will marry and Winterfell will have another lady. This is what is best.”

“What did you do, Mother?” Arya demanded. When Catelyn hesitated, she got cross. “When Father was sending you away you said it was Jon who had demanded your exile.”

“But it was a mistake!” Sansa whined. “Wasn't it, Mother? Jon wouldn't be so unkind. And Sam told us he received you in the Midnight Fortress! He wouldn't have if you had done something against him or Dany! Besides, why would you ever be nasty to them? It’s Jon and Dany!”

Catelyn was feeling anxious. “Your Father and I have agreed that you two are too young—” she started and Jory cleared his throat again. “This doesn't matter. It is what it is, and what is best for me is to serve the gods.”

Bertha Cassel knocked and Jory stepped away for a moment to speak with his wife. He returned seeming annoyed.

“Lady Catelyn, I suppose you travelled to the capital with an escort.”

“I did. We got… lost from each other.”

“I see,” the guard said curtly. “Well, they haven't found their way yet. Would you like a few of our men to escort you? It's time for luncheon.”

“I don't… where is Lord Stark? I'd like a last meal with my daughters.”

“Oh, Father won't mind, will he, Jory?”

“I'm sure he won't,” Bertha said.

“Where's Ella?” Arya asked. “She said she was only getting something from her room.”

“She'll join us soon,” Bertha answered.

“Who is Ella?” Catelyn asked.

“She is our governess,” Sansa replied. “Oh, Mother, I'm so glad you'll meet! She's so wonderful! I'm sure you'll be happy to see how she cares for us so well!”

“You don't have a septa?” Catelyn asked and the other adults decided not to answer. That was for Lord Stark to deal with.

Bertha and Jory led them to the Small Hall where the meal was being laid out. Catelyn moved to sit by Ned’s left, as was her right as his wife, at least for the next few hours and Littlefinger managed to snag himself an invitation when Jory told Catelyn he was still waiting for her.

The first course was nearly done when Ned joined them, and he seemed visibly lighter. He faltered at seeing Catelyn sitting at the table, but only went to his place at the head of the table.

“The girls mentioned they have a governess,” Catelyn said when the awkward silence extended. “Is she not joining us?”

Ned did his best to keep from blushing — Ella had crossly kicked him out of the room, saying she would need to find herself a new dress since the ties of the one she’d be wearing were ruined. He didn’t regret it at all.

“I'm sure she will join us presently. There must have been a problem.”

“You don’t supervise your own household, Lord Stark?” Littlefinger asked.

“I do, I just don’t deal with household issues. I'm sure she’ll tell me if something needs to be done.”

“It can’t be easy to run a household with two daughters without a wife.”

“I’ve been managing very well, Lord Baelish, thank you for your concern.”

“Ella!” Sansa exclaimed as the woman walked in. “Why are you late?”

“There was an issue that demanded my immediate attention,” the Dornish replied. “Lady Catelyn, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Catelyn pursed her lips but didn’t reply, only nodded.

“Ella has been teaching me a new kind of stitching, Mother,” Sansa said with a smile. “I shall show you after luncheon, it’s very elegant.”

“I think I know all the styles of the south, Sansa,” Catelyn said curtly.

“From the Summer Islands, my lady,” Ella said. “I don’t claim to be the most skilled, but this one in particular was quite easy to learn.”

“We have no need of foreigners. Westerosi ladies are clever enough.”

“You should tell this to the Queen,” Ella said with a smile. “As I'm sure the Master of Coin can confirm, Her Grace has just imported five new Myrish carpets for her own chambers. Not to mention the Lysene silk she bought a few months back. The entire Court was gossiping for weeks!”

“I have to admit that the Treasury did bear that expense,” Littlefinger agreed with a flourish. “Her Grace has been particularly… _profligate_ ever since a little blue gem has been discovered.”

“Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?” Ned asked.

“I didn’t think the King’s Hand would be interested in the expenses of the Queen, Lord Stark. Cersei buys, I merely find the money to cover it.”

“I have no care for what Cersei does,” Ned said. “I care about the Treasury. But this is not a conversation for right now.”

The meal continued in a tense manner only the adults could feel. Sansa kept telling Catelyn what had happened since they had parted ways, though there seemed to be a silent agreement between the sisters not to mention Syrio Forel or their daily rides.

“Girls, say goodbye to your mother,” Ned said once the last course was cleared. “We can't know for sure when she’ll be able to visit again.”

“But Father, must she really go?” Sansa asked.

“She is going because she wants to go,” Ned answered. She made to argue. “Sansa, enough. Your mother has made her choice. Say goodbye.”

A squire came in and whispered a message to Ella. “The Tully guards are downstairs,” she announced. “Serve them something, they must be hungry from the road,” she told the squire.

“The High Septon says Lady Catelyn must be in the Sept by sundown.”

“There’s still enough hours.” Ella said, dismissing the boy.

Catelyn held the girls closer, unsure whether coming here had been good or just made things worse.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

A few days later, Ella walked into Ned’s solar just before supper. “Bertha said you were looking for me. What is it?”

He smiled — a carefree, easy smile she hadn’t seen ever since Harenhall — and passed her a scroll. “The High Septon just sent over.”

“Prattle, prattle, prattle,” she read. “Oh, here it is: ‘The Faith of the Seven, within its authority, recognises the annulment of the holy matrimony between Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North, and Lord Hand to His Grace King Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm and the former Lady Catelyn of House Tully, who has decided to devote her life to her gods and joined the ranks of our Faith as a sister septa and therefore stripped herself of the burdens of family and ties. As such, the matrimony is dissolved and annulled from this day forward, though any issue produced thus far is legitimate and holds its rank in matters of succession.’ So it’s done?”

“Yes. I’m a bachelor again, though Robb remains my heir.”

“That’s fair, obviously. Does he know?”

“I sent a raven when Catelyn left. The response must be coming.”

“Did you tell him about us?”

“No.” He sighed. “Annulments are rare and complicated. They deserve to hear it in person. And I don’t want them to think I'm simply putting you in Catelyn’s place.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed, taking his hand and letting him pull her into an embrace, leaning on the door to the balcony. “Let me know when you’d like me to start preparing a wedding dress.”

He chuckled. “How long do you need for that?”

She laughed. “For a dress fitting of the future Lady Stark? Weeks and weeks. Less, if Sansa helps.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“She was the most vocal about Catelyn going away. And I don’t fault her.”

“Catelyn _chose_ to go. I wouldn’t have forced her. Even though I wanted to get out of the marriage, I still offered a household in the North for her.”

“I know that, and I also know the real reason you sent Catelyn back to Riverrun. Sansa and Arya don’t. Catelyn is their _mother_ , Ned.”

“And Jon is their _brother_. Lyanna is their _niece_.”

“Ned, they have no idea what Catelyn did. And I don’t think they’re old enough to be told. They understand you sent her away for a good reason and they know you wouldn’t do it lightly. They also know she _chose_ the sept. But there is no bond fiercer than that between mother and child.”

He exhaled. “I’ll find a way to talk to them. They like you!”

“They like me as their governess, there’s no telling their reaction to being told we will get married.”

He huffed. “First my brother, now my children. I bowed to Brandon, decided to wait for his wedding so he might be in a better mood, and that went how it did. I'm not letting you escape through my fingers again.”

“I just think—”

The knock on the door spurred them into moving away, but Jory still came in in time to see they’d been closer than proper. “The Lady Olenna Tyrell requests an audience, my lord.”

“Good luck!” Ella whispered, turning to leave, curtsying when they crossed paths in the corridor.

“Lady Olenna,” Ned greeted when she walked in the solar. “To what do I owe this honour?”

“Oh, a honour, is it? I'm flattered. This is off to a good start.”

“I wasn’t aware you were in the city, my Lady.”

“Arrived a few days ago in my trek to your brother’s wedding.”

“I would have thought you’d go by ship all the way.”

“Oh, I would, except I wanted to talk to you before we arrived in the North. I have a proposal.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella walked into her room and was startled to see Arya sitting cross-legged on her bed.

“Are you Jon’s mother?”

“Arya, what—?”

“I was sneaking around the servant’s passages and I got lost and I ended up in my father’s solar. I heard you two talking. He said he let you escape through his fingers once, I'm guessing that’s when uncle Brandon died and he had to marry Mother, so you two already knew each other. Are you Jon’s mother?”

“No, Arya, I am not.”

“If my father was in love with you and married to my mother, then how did he get Jon’s mother pregnant?”

“That is a question for when you’re much older.”

“You know who she is, don’t you?”

“Arya, that’s enough. Your brother doesn’t know, I'm not telling you anything.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Brother.”

“What?”

“You called him my _brother_. Not _half_ -brother.” Ella remained quiet. Arya was too smart sometimes. “You don’t blame my father.”

“He held no oaths to me.”

“But he loved you and he betrayed that.”

“That is not a discussion for now.”

“What did my mother do to Jon and Daenerys? To Lyanna?”

“I'm not telling you that.”

“I heard you and Father!”

“I know that, and since you’ve brought it up, it’s very rude to eavesdrop. You will be grounded for three days — no horseback riding.”

“Ella!”

“Whine and I’ll take Syrio too!”

Arya huffed, crossing her arms on her chest. “Do I have to recite prayers kneeling on the corn in the corner?”

“Gods, no! Don’t tell me your mother…”

“Well no, not her, but Septa Mordane made me do it all the time. Said the pain and penitence would get me closer to the gods.”

“Well let’s find another way, shall we. Three days of no riding, and the penalty will grow for repeated offenders. Are we clear?”

“Aye,” Arya grumbled, but knew it was a fair punishment. Then she chuckled, uncrossed her arms, stood from the bed and smiled. “My mother chose to become a septa and I know my father wouldn’t send her away in the first place if she hadn’t done something very bad. And it’s not hard to imagine it involved Jon and Dany, she made no attempt to hide how much she loathed Jon. So I'm glad you and Father are getting married. You make him happy.”

Ella smiled, accepting the hug, and she chuckled as Arya skipped out of the room. Then she pursed her lips. She would need to be doubly vigilant about passages again. She’d obviously been very lax.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	26. 25 Plotting and Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gathers in the Midnight Fortress to witness Benjen and Ayla's wedding. Ned has an emotional meeting before plans need to be made and Robb and Jon are surprised with their father's news.

******Chapter 25**

**Plotting and Plotting**

 

Ned smiled at the child sleeping in his arms. With her eyes closed, Lyanna looked just like her grandmother and namesake, like Arya when she was this young. Though the inhuman beauty of the Targaryen features was very pronounced, more so than in Jon given the addition of Daenerys’ blood. With her eyes opened, however, the girl was undeniably the blood of the dragon — and she was more dragon than wolf, which had only given her the curly dark brown hair. Though the stony Dornish also shared purple eyes (Ella’s was proof of that), lilac eyes were an exclusively Valyrian trait.

“Father, are you crying?” Jon asked softly.

Ned, Ella, Sansa, and Arya had arrived on the Midnight Fortress only a couple of hours ago on the _Lady Daenerys_ , which Jon had sent to pick them up. Lady Olenna had graciously accepted the invitation to come along with her granddaughter, so her son wouldn’t need to stop his ship at the capital to pick them up. Robert had decided to send one Kingsguard to accompany the Hand of the King and represent the absent King, and Ser Barristan had been the one chosen. By Cersei’s manipulation, Jaime Lannister had joined the group travelling north, to represent House Lannister.

After quickly cleaning up, Ned demanded to be introduced to his granddaughter, so Jon led him to the nursery. The maids had quickly left, so they were alone for now.

“I am holding my first grandchild for the very first time, of course I’m crying,” he said happily. “She looks like you, son.”

“I think that aside from the hair she looks just like Dany. According to Ayla, those cheekbones are very Targaryen.”

 _Well, yours are a bit like this, too_. Ned thought, but didn’t dare voice. “Was the birth difficult?”

“Terrifying. I thought… I was scared…”

“I shouldn’t have told you, not then. Births are nerve-wracking enough without that hanging over your head.”

“I'm glad I know, Father. Truly.” Ned nodded and turned his attention back to the gurgling baby. “How… how did the King receive the news?”

“Better than I expected, actually.” They were quiet for a few moments.

“Robb told me about Lady Catelyn.”

Ned sighed. “That is actually something I want to talk about with you and Robb. You’re older, I can tell you more.”

“Is this about the cold shoulder Sansa seems to be giving Ella?”

“Yes,” Ned sighed. “Sansa has been… difficult.”

“Arya seems to approve. I do too, for that matter. She seemed lovely and I know you wouldn't marry her simply to have a wife.”

“It’s one of the things I need to talk to you and your brother about. The others are too young, though Arya already eavesdropped on a bit of it. Come on, I think this little one is hungry anyway,” Ned said, holding Lya’s hands that were trying to grab at his chest.

Jon called the maids back in and one went immediately to get Daenerys. Then he led the way to his solar and sent a guard to get Robb and Benjen. They discussed the mining business as they waited.

“There is something I never told you, because there has never been any need to tell,” Ned said. “But things have changed. Robb, you know I have—” he cleared his throat. “After the Rebellion, I have always been faithful and honourable to your mother.”

“I know of Mother’s doings and her choice, Father.”

“I married Catelyn for duty, and though I grew to love her, when we met, my heart already belonged to another.”

“Is this your way of saying you intend to marry again, Father?” Robb asked.

“It is. I mean no disrespect to your mother, but I would like your blessing. She would never take Catelyn’s place in you or your siblings lives, but I do hope you'll come to see her as a stepmother who loves you and cares for you.”

“You said your heart already belonged to her when you married Mother.” Robb looked at Jon. “Do you mean…?”

“You told me my mother is dead,” Jon cut in.

“She is.” Benjen stated. Then his face went slack with shock. “You can't mean whom I think you mean.” Ned blushed. “She is supposed to be dead, Ned. How did— Seven hells! Are they both alive?”

Ned was red as a tomato now, but he nodded. “It was too dangerous. We had to do it, we had to fake it.”

“And he let you pretend you bested him?” Benjen asked incredulously.

“It was his idea. He—”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but Jon and I have no idea who you're talking about,” Robb interrupted, annoyed.

“I thought this was about Ella,” Jon said.

“Ella? Isn't that the governess? Father, I don't blame you for wanting to marry again, but do you really think it's sensible that the Lady of Winterfell should be a commoner?”

“I married into a Great House once for a fancy alliance, Robb. I've done my duty to House Stark and to Winterfell. I am marrying for love now.”

“Father, I… I know you said the dissolution of the marriage didn't affect me or my siblings in any way, but I must ask — if you have another son…?”

“You are my heir, Robb, and nothing can take it from you, nor would I allow for it.”

Robb nodded. “Well, Jon says she is good to the girls and Arya had nothing but praises. If that is your decision…”

“But why does everyone think she is dead?” Jon asked. “Why did you have to fake her death?”

Ned took a deep breath. “We met in Harenhall, in that ill-fated tourney. I fell in love with her then, and she with me. My father said he would think about my marriage after Brandon had married Catelyn, but then the Rebellion happened and I had to follow through with the alliance. But she knew where Lyanna was during the Rebellion. Robert wouldn't have forgiven it, he would have called for her head. And her brother would never bend the knee to Robert. We managed to convince him that wasting his life was senseless, that he could still live honourably.”

“Who is she?” Robb asked.

“Ashara Dayne.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla had noticed Sansa’s mood as soon as they docked, so after cleaning up she had invited the girl to come and see her wedding dress and see if she could improve anything. Sansa had immediately perked up and so they went to the extravagant and unnecessary — in Ayla’s perception — room Daenerys had given her future aunt. The dress was standing in a mannequin in a corner and Sansa gasped in awe, as soon as she saw it.

“Oh gods, Ayla! It’s amazing!”

“Lady Starling—” she rolled her eyes at Sansa’s glare. “Fine, _Daenerys_ convinced me to accept help from the castle seamstress and she had all these fabrics and ideas, so I'm glad I did.” She let the girl marvel a little bit longer. “Now, do you want to talk?”

Sansa looked down, fingering inexistent lint on her dress. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not very, but I’ve got a keen eye.”

“Do you know what happened to my mother?” Ayla nodded. “Why did Father let it happen?”

“My dear, I doubt your father would be so unkind as to force it on her.”

“She said it was her choice, but Father just decided to remarry!”

“Oh, so he should stay alone because your mother decided to become a septa?” Ayla asked and Sansa blushed. “Sansa, nothing and no one would ever replace you in you father’s heart. You know that, don’t you?”

“But… if he has more children…”

“Let me tell you a little something about hearts: they grow. So when a parent has a new child, their heart expands to fit that love. Love is not shared, it’s multiplied, always. If Lord Stark has more children, his heart will grow to fit all of you. Or do you think he loved you any less just because Arya or Bran or Rickon were born?”

“What about my mother?”

“The new Lady Stark will be your stepmother. She can help and guide you, but no one will ever be your mother, except for Catelyn Tully. Alright?”

“I think… I think I’ll ask her intentions then.”

Ayla chuckled. “You do that, dear, you do that.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

In Jon’s solar, the conversation had now turned to other ventures, after Jon and Robb overcame the shock of their father loving another woman and participating in a deception as big as Arthur and Ashara Dayne’s supposed deaths.

“A marriage alliance?” Robb asked. “Between who?”

Jon snickered. “Well, all the men in this room are happily paired, brother, except one.”

He paled. “You can't… but… I…”

“Lady Olenna had only an initial proposal, son,” Ned said. “I won't force you — I know what a forced arranged marriage is like, but I do hope we can talk about it like adults. You’re sixteen years old, it’s past the time to have that settled.”

“But what would we gain with that?” Robb asked with a desperation that made it seem like a marriage would be the utmost punishment.

“An alliance with the Reach would be beyond beneficial to the North when winter comes, Robb. And it _will_ come eventually, even if we are in the midst of the longest summer in recorded history. Plus, my father was right that the North was closed in itself. We need to make southern alliances.”

“Is she even pretty?” Robb asked and Jon exploded in laughter.

“I think you’re missing the point of an _arranged_ marriage, brother.”

Robb threw a pillow at him. “Says the man married to a bloody gorgeous woman.”

Jon caught it, still laughing. “What can I do, brother, I'm lucky.” He threw the pillow back.

“Enough, boys,” Ned called, amused. “Robb, Lady Margaery came with us on the _Lady Daenerys_ , you should invite her for a walk through the gardens, get to know her.” Robb grumbled but nodded. “And now there is an unpleasant subject I must talk to you about. Robb as my heir and acting Lord of Winterfell and Jon as one of the most important bannermen. Lady Olenna brought me a gift of goodwill if you would call it that.”

“That sounds like a bad omen,” Benjen said.

“She has heard around that Tywin Lannister is plotting something to do with trade.”

Jon scoffed. “Not surprising. My mines are bound to have made him nervous, and only about to get worse once the tourney is done.”

Ned agreed. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything to do with that, and I do know something is coming. Luckily, it needs to go through me to be approved. Or even if he goes straight to Robert, I can try and reason with him before it’s settled. And I also know the King is unhappy with his wife and heir.”

“That’s even less surprising,” Jon grumbled.

“This realm hasn’t seen a fight since the Greyjoy rebellion nine years ago,” Ned said. “Unrest is taking hold and I would rather be prepared when it comes.”

“You speak as if you know a war is coming, Father,” Robb said.

“I fear it, rather. There are a few precautions we can take that will ensure the North is secure. Precautions that will take more than a fortnight to be done properly.”

“Moat Cailin?” Benjen suggested and Ned nodded. “What about a fleet?”

“Jon, you mentioned you intended to grow your navy,” Robb said.

“That will take a while yet. But Stannis Baratheon said he’d come for the wedding and bring Ser Davos Seaworth to fulfil his end of the bargain. He’ll supervise the beginning of the fleet’s construction and the training of the sailors.”

“Good,” Ned agreed. “I thought to have you as Lord Admiral of the Northern Fleet, Jon. Do you accept it?”

“Father, you… you honour me.”

Ned smiled. “I’ll make Lord Manderly the Lord Vice Admiral. He’ll still be beneath you, son, but that should appease him. He was unhappy about House Starling’s elevation to a major House and he was, I'm certain, hoping to marry Robb to his own granddaughter, and he was bypassed by the Reach no less.”

“What about the western coast?” Benjen asked.

Ned sighed. “That will require more thinking.”

“Perhaps we could have a collaboration,” Benjen suggested. “Deepwater Motte is at the edge of the Wolfswood, the Glovers can provide the wood, and Bear Island can provide the men to build and captain the ships.”

“It could work,” Ned agreed. “I can have Manderly in the east and Mormont in the west. I can ask Lord Glover to send his brother to command a party of archers in Moat Cailin during the rebuilding. ”

“How will you justify it to the King? It's bound to make people in the south nervous,” Robb said.

“Jon is expanding his navy because he found money,” Ned answered. “And I've decided to do the same in the western coast to deal with ironborn pirates. No one will question that.”

“And Moat Cailin?” Jon pointed out.

“I already have four sons, and a second marriage will probably give me more. I'm renovating it for one of them.”

“Why not renovate some castles in the western coast?” Robb suggested. “Lya is the heiress to the Midnight Fortress, but if we renovate Sea Dragon Point, it could go to a future son.”

“Bad jokes apart,” Jon rolled his eyes, “I'm sure Daenerys would be thrilled.”

Jon took out a map he had of the North and they descended into plans.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I still get the impression that he’s hiding something from us,” Robb said later that evening. He and Jon were in the latter’s sitting room, enjoying some ale after supper.

“I don’t know about _hiding_ , but I did get the impression there’s more he isn't saying.”

“We’re his two eldest sons and he just told us a secret that would make the King furious. What else could there be?”

“I think things in King's Landing are worse than he made it sound,” Jon suggested. “The King can't stand the Queen — he yelled at her in the middle of a feast, Robb. And you saw him here and in Winterfell, he makes no effort to hide his dalliances.”

“So what?”

“What if Robert gave an indication that he wants to Cersei aside? That will undoubtedly make the Lannisters declare war.”

“And I understand Father standing with the King, but why close the North up like this? We’ve never had a fleet, now we’ve got an Admiral and a Vice Admiral. We went through a Rebellion much worse than this and he didn’t man Moat Cailin like he said he would, let alone born the cost of its renovation. Bran, like he is, he won't marry, but Rickon will be an old man with a grandchild by the time it’s done.”

“Now you’re reaching, Robb. It didn’t take half as many years to get the Midnight Fortress inhabitable and it had been empty, abandoned, for much longer. But about Bran, there’s something I haven’t told Father yet. I need your opinion.”

Robb frowned as Jon sat up straighter.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Later on, it was well into the night when Jon walked into his bedchamber to find Daenerys already dozing on the bed. Ghost immediately went to his very large bed by the fire and Jon got changed into his nightclothes. Then, as delicately as he could, he unlaced the ties of Dany’s dress and tried to pull away the heavier layers. She stirred and mumbled incoherent things in what Jon supposed was Valyrian while he managed to strip her down to her shift and pull the covers from beneath her to cover them both. He chuckled, settled on his side of the bed, drew her into his arms, kissed her forehead softly, and let sleep take over him.

On the next morning, Daenerys found Jon by the lake of the godswood. He was twirling a winter rose between his fingers and staring unseeing into the flower.

“I thought you had overcome your brooding phase,” she said softly, sitting next to him.

He chuckled and turned to place the flower behind her ear. “My soon-to-be aunt says I'm incurable.”

Dany smiled, rolling her eyes. “What is it? You were in your solar with your father, Uncle Benjen, and Robb all day, then you and Robb talked well into the night. Has something happened?”

“Father is wary of what he is seeing in King's Landing. I said I wanted to grow my navy so he’s named me Admiral of the Northern Fleet.”

“Can he do it?”

“He’s the Warden of the North, of course he can. He’s named Lord Manderly the Vice-Admiral and he’ll have Mormonts and Glovers working on building the western fleet. And he’s rebuilding Moat Cailin.”

“Who for?”

“One of his sons.”

“You mean Bran or Rickon? I thought Catelyn had joined the Sept, their marriage is over. She won't be giving him any more sons.”

Jon sighed, looking across the lake. “Is it wrong of me to be happy she is gone?”

Daenerys’ face closed. “After she prayed for your death and our daughter’s? Most certainly not.”

“She’s lost everything, though. And she’s their mother.”

“Jon, can you imagine what would have happened if we hadn’t gotten married? If she hadn’t managed to send you away before, she would never accept you in Winterfell when your father left for the capital. She would most likely exile you to the Wall and think it was well deserved because a bastard had no more worth than to freeze and fight wildlings.”

“Sometimes I wonder that she was so cruel because we were betrothed. Because she wanted a princess betrothed to _her_ son, not me.”

“Does it justify her actions, though? She prayed for the death of an innocent child, Jon. She prayed against our marriage, she prayed for my barrenness. And when we discovered I was with child she prayed Lyanna wouldn’t be born. Whatever her reasons, I don’t grant her forgiveness. Let her cleanse her soul with her gods.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

Jon chuckled. “Father is getting married again.”

“Oh, how marvellous! I hope he finally gets a wife who is worthy of him!”

“Dany…” he whined.

“Who is the lucky woman?”

“About that… you won't believe the story! I never thought my father would be capable of such political manoeuvre!”

Daenerys felt her chin fall in shock after Jon told her. _Ashara Dayne. Ser Arthur Dayne._ Suddenly, the dream she had had the week before made sense: a falling star landing in the harbour of Sunstone Town.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The Midnight Fortress was filled to the brim with visiting nobles and their parties and no amount of preparation could fully prepare them for the madness it incited. Jon and Daenerys were very gracious hosts, and though the lords present at the tourney in King’s Landing had already been impressed with Jon, Daenerys managed to charm them, even from behind the hurdle of being the ‘Mad King’s daughter’.

Ser Barristan in particular had been very moved when they met. “I’m sorry for my blubbering, my Lady, but you remind me so much of your mother I couldn’t help it.”

Daenerys bit her lip. There were too many ears about for her to ask any interesting questions. “There’s nothing to forgive, Ser. But I am afraid I must see to my daughter. I wonder if you would escort me to the nursery?”

“It would be an honour, Lady Starling.”

The knight offered his arm and Daenerys took it, leading the way out of the hall. Oyris inconspicuously made sure no ears followed them.

“What was she like?” Daenerys asked once they were out of earshot.

“She was beautiful, my Lady, the most beautiful woman in any room, and you are her spitting image. But more than that, she was kind and fierce. Oh, was she fierce. She would give away gold and food to an orphanage in Flea Bottom and when the King complained she faced him head on. She kept your brothers safe and blissfully happy.”

“I suppose you mean safe and blissfully ignorant about my father.”

Ser Barristan sighed. “Your father was… he was a good king, in the beginning. He always had the madness in him, though, but that didn’t affect the realm too much. But then… then Dukensdale happened. After what he went through… he wasn’t the same anymore. And he was convinced Rhaegar and Tywin Lannister had conspired together to let him die in those dungeons so Rhaegar could ascend to the throne. He became paranoid and erratic. Everyone was his enemy: Rhaegar, Tywin, his Court, the smallfolk, even your mother. Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t keep to my vows and did my job too well. If… if Rhaegar had risen to the throne then… it would have been for the best.”

“I always blamed Rhaegar for the Rebellion,” Daenerys said after a moment. “And how could I not, growing up in Winterfell, having the lords and ladies calling me dragon spawn and blaming me for the death of their former liege, his heir, and daughter? Until Lord Stark called me to his solar and told me what caused the Rebellion. That my father had murdered Lord Rickard and Lord Brandon.”

“Did he tell you…?”

“He told me his sister hadn’t been raped, but refused to speak any more on the subject.”

“What is done is done, my Lady,” the Kingsguard said and Daenerys nodded. They had arrived at the nursery. “I wonder if an old man might be nosy and request to—”

“Of course,” Dany said with a smile.

They went in and she took Lyanna from the maid. Ser Barristan cried when he took her with trembling hands.

“Oh, she’s a wonder!” he said once the maid had taken the baby back. “May the gods bless her, my Princess,” Ser Barristan said quietly, though fervently, with a small bow of his head.

Daenerys looked up to him and they locked eyes for one long moment.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

On the day of the wedding, the southerners were shocked to find out the ceremony was to take place at night, but none of the northerners paid them any mind. Jon walked nervously down the corridor, his anxiety making the package in his hands feel like it weighed a ton. He knocked, and Doreah quickly let him in.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

Ayla chuckled. “Thank you, but you can thank your wife for the dress and the handmaidens.”

“I'll be sure to tell her. She's with Lyanna or she'd be here. Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes, the girls are just keeping me company.”

“So Irri, Doreah, would you excuse us?” Jon asked and the girls curtseyed and left. He played with the string of the package, unsure how to start.

“Oh, please, the suspense is killing me,” Ayla jested.

He chuckled. “Dany mentioned you weren't going to wear a maiden cloak.”

“Well, I'm a widow, not a maiden.”

“I know, but it’s tradition.”

“I don't have a House, Jon. And I don't mind.”

“But I do. I… I asked Kira to help me with it, and Sansa took over once she got here. You don't have to wear it if you don’t want to, but…” he passed her the package, and Ayla opened it with shaking hands.

She gasped as she unfolded the cloak. It was soft light grey with winter roses embroidered neatly with blue thread.

“I… I don't… I just…”

“I never met my mother,” Jon said softly, “but she trusted you to protect and raise me, and for me there is no higher recommendation. You are the only mother figure I know, Ayla, so it would honour me, and my House, if you would wear our colours and allow me to give you away to your betrothed.”

Tears were silently running down her face as she forgot all propriety and pulled Jon into a tight hug.

“I know I'm not, nor would I ever presume, or even want, to be your mother. That privilege belongs to her alone. But you are like a son to me, so I can see no greater honour than to accept.”

After she had donned the cloak, Jon led her through the castle down the godswood, which was already filled with the guests. There were several whispers when they saw the maiden cloak, some nasty, but some commenting on how it was a sign that House Starling fully supported the match.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Ned started the ceremony after Jon had delivered Ayla to a dumbstruck uncle Benjen.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The feast was winding down as Benjen and Ayla opened their gifts. She gave a very suspicious look when she saw Jon and Daenerys approaching, mischief clear in their eyes.

“What are you two up to?” Benjen asked.

“I’m already wearing my gifts,” Ayla said, pointing to the necklace, earrings, and comb made of winter diamonds.

“No, those were my gifts to you,” Jon explained. “Now this is _our_ gift, from House Starling, to the bride and groom.

He passed them a scroll. Being more experienced with reading, Benjen took it and unrolled it, quickly passing his eyes through the words. Then his eyes bulged and his chin fell open. Jon took goblets for him and Daenerys from a passing waiter and called for silence.

“If I may, I ask all present to raise their glass in toast of the bride and groom, Benjen and Ayla, Lord and Lady of Crystalia!”

Around the room, lords and ladies echoed the toast. Ayla took the scroll from her new husband, reading it with trembling hands. Benjen was shocked.

“You’re giving me a lordship?”

“With lands and a castle, Uncle,” Jon said with a smile. “Though the castle, much like this one, has been empty since the Doom. I’m afraid there’ll be enough years between now and the completion of the renovation for you to impose your presence.”

Laughing and crying, Benjen pulled his nephew into a tight hug. “Ned did a good job with you, Jon. It is truly undeniable whose blood you share!”

Ayla pulled him into a hug too. “She’d be proud of you,” she whispered. “You are just like her. And for me, there is no higher recommendation.”

Jon smiled, squeezing her hand. Ayla was, right now, his only bridge to the elusive and faceless woman who invaded his dreams every night, but whose name he still didn’t know.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the tourney.  
> Please do place your bets!


	27. 26 The Thing About Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tourney happens. And a lot of other stuff too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to share the wonderful of work of the talented Queen_Tyna, who made a Starling sigil. Thank you dear, you're awesome!
> 
> Now enjoy the chapter!

 

 

**Chapter 26**

**The Thing about Smiles**

 

Bran laughed loudly as Jory knocked a Frey rider from his saddle. The man made a comic face when he hit the dirt, getting the whole crowd roaring.

It was two days after the wedding and the tourney was in full swing. Bran had initially been very disappointed that no one from the Westerlands had come, because he had hoped to see Jon defeating the Mountain again.

“Are you still sure about this?” Robb asked as he and Jon watched the tilts from the side. Daenerys was sitting at the place of the hosts, Ayla, Benjen, Ned, Ella, Sansa, Arya, and Bran with her while Ghost stood guard by her side.

“What is the point of hosting a tourney if I'm not going to compete?” Jon asked while Grenn, his squire, fastened his armour.

“You father calls it playing at war,” Theon said.

“That is the point, Greyjoy, to practice,” Jon said. “I'm not going to compete in the mêlée, that I don't see the point of, I agree with Father, but jousting is harmless enough.”

“Unless you're knocked on your arse, then you get a bruise and we get to laugh,” Theon added.

“We can always count on you to lift our spirits, Greyjoy,” Jon said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re all set, milord,” Grenn said. “And you’re up next, Lord Robb. You’re right after, Lord Starling.”

“Thank you, Grenn. Go practice with your bow, Greyjoy, you might get somewhere near the top ten.”

“Good luck, Starling,” Robb said, fiddling with his helm and watching as Theon walked away. “And please, do not fall from the horse.”

Jon laughed. “I’d like to see someone unseat me from Winterstorm.”

He watched as Robb went up on his saddle and Grenn handed him a lance. Apparently, his walk through the gardens had changed his initial opinion, because Robb rode to where the Tyrells were sitting and asked for Margaery’s favour, which the girl gave with a smile. Jon rolled his eyes at his brother. Robb was so predictable sometimes! A pretty face and a smile could always sway him.

He was set to joust against Prince Oberyn Martell, who was commended for his skill. Jon knew that regardless of their months of training, he and Robb were both still way bellow the man’s skill, after all, he had years under his belt.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, son and heir to Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, competes against Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne,” a herald announced.

Robb had been holding his own so far, as his position in the quarterfinals indicated, and he even managed to hold his seat in the first tilt. But Oberyn had good aiming and a lot of strength and managed to send him flying in the second tilt.

Jon was glad Theon was gone and would hear of it second-hand: Robb would never hear the end of it, but at least the ironborn hadn’t started his ironic and unpleasant commentary while the heir to Winterfell was still nursing a bruised ego.

Putting it out of his mind for the moment, Jon went up on the saddle, took the lance Grenn was offering, and trotted to the middle of the list.

“Ser Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Midnight Fortress and the Blessed Island, competes against Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard!” the herald announced.

Jon walked Winterstorm to the stand, pointing his lance forward. “My lady, I request the honour of your favour.”

Daenerys smiled and stood from her chair, coming forward to tie the blue silk around the lance. “Of course, my good lord.”

He smiled, his eyes shining as he turned his horse around. Dany sat back down, her smile unwavering though inside her stomach was gurgling. Ghost rested his head on her lap to comfort her as the two knights followed their preparations in the opposite sides of the list.

“Calm down, Daenerys,” Ayla whispered. “It’s not his first turn. He’s been training, he will be fine.”

“He’s facing Jaime Lannister.”

“It’s the quarterfinals, Dany,” Robb said, though his tone betrayed a bit of his anxiety. “Jon’s made it this far.”

Robb had gotten rid of his armour before joining the others in the stands and Ella had immediately stood up to fuss. One of the splinters had managed to scratch his shoulder and she spotted the tiny stain in his collar. He tried to say he was fine but she didn’t relax until she had made sure herself.

The horn sounded and both Jon and Jaime charged. Jon lost a bit of his seat, but managed to break the very tip of his lance. On the second tilt, his lance exploded in full against Jaime’s shield, making the older knight lose his balance and fly from his saddle.

“Oh, how I wish there was women’s jousting,” Ella whispered in Ned’s ear as the crowd clapped vigorously. “I’d love to see Cersei’s face as I knocked her down to the dirt.”

He chuckled. “That is something I would actually like to see.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

As the sun began to set, the semi-finals and final lists were set to happen in the morning, so all of the guests retired back to the castle, where a feast expected them. Ser Loras Tyrell had won the tilt against the Ser Jason Mallister, so he was going to face Prince Oberyn in one of the semi-finals. On the other side, Ser Barristan had unseated Ser Robar Royce, so he would be facing Jon in the other semi-final.

As the feasting gave space for dancing, Ella was sitting alone, watching with a smile as Ned attempted to not crush Sansa’s toes while they danced, when someone took the vacant seat at her side.

“Good to see Dornish representation at this place.”

She bit back smile. “I’m unsure what you mean, my lord. Have we been introduced?”

He threw his head back in laughter. “I’ve missed you, you know?”

She smirked, checking their surroundings. The feast was too loud and boisterous for their words to carry. “I was wondering if you would come talk to me, Oberyn.”

“Not if I would recognise you?”

“I was hoping to be a bit more unforgettable than that.”

“Considering Arthur was guarding the Tower, I suppose you knew where the she-wolf was hiding and that’s why you needed to disappear?” Oberyn deduced and she nodded. “What are you plotting Ash—?”

“ _Ella_ ,” she insisted. “What do you think a Dornish woman, friend of your sister’s, is plotting in King's Landing?”

Oberyn hummed. “Did you poison her soup yet?”

“Too easy a death. I'm sure you’ve heard what Jon Starling did at the Tourney of the Hand?”

“My main reason for coming up here, I needed to shake his hand. He is yours, isn't he?”

“Whom else would Ned Stark have a bastard with?” Ella posed the question, knowing it would throw him off the scent. “I knew news of Jon and the Mountain would draw you here. And I need you to take something back south.”

“Words to big brother?”

“Well, Doran is the ruling Prince. But that’s for you to decide. I think Arianne will be more helpful in this.”

“This is becoming interesting.”

“I know about the betrothal between Arianne and Viserys Targaryen.”

“Not many people know that,” Oberyn said, displeased but not thoroughly shocked she knew.

“I’m not like most. And my time in Essos only brought me whispers of how he is first, incapable of successfully launching a campaign for the throne; second, he is his father’s son; and third he’s a coward bully, Oby. He’ll try to stomp Arianne down with his boot.”

“He’ll fail.”

“Of course he will,” Ella agreed easily. “Arianne will eat him alive for breakfast on a slow day. But Viserys Targaryen on the Iron Throne is worse than even the Lannisters sitting there.”

“So,” Oberyn casually threw an apple at an approaching curious child, “what are you saying?”

“I'm saying Robert is unhappy in his marriage and it won't be long before war breaks out.”

“We’ll be opposite the Lannisters, obviously.”

“You will, I'm sure. Doran will be more cautious than that.”

“You know something I don’t.”

“Several somethings, as a matter of fact. And tomorrow Ned is announcing our betrothal, so I dare say I’ll know even more. Winterfell controls the entire North and has the easy support of the Vale and the Riverlands.”

“So you want to ensure Dornish support when all hells breaks lose,” Oberyn finished the thought. He looked around the room. “You said you’d rather the child-murderer than Viserys, so I can only suppose you’d support Daenerys.”

“Daenerys is the right queen,” Ella said, though she added the ‘by right of marriage’ in her head.

“Well, I'm sure Arianne will agree on that score. She wants Sunspear, and I know her well enough to know she’d hate being a consort. And I'm certain between the two of us, we can convince Doran to side with the other dragon.”

“I might be able to,” was all she said.

Oberyn chuckled. “I haven’t even said what I want in return.”

“You don’t need to, Oby. It’s still me.”

He smirked. “I really did miss you, Ash.”

She smiled, turning back to watch Ned and Sansa.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys was sitting with Margaery Tyrell and a handful of other ladies about their ages, discussing the excitement of the tourney and the dresses worn so far by all the ladies attending.

“Nothing, of course,” Margaery said to Daenerys as the others giggled about something, “beats this necklace of yours, my lady. The winter diamond truly is a wonderful gem.”

Dany smiled, looking down at the pendant: the gem was almost as big as her fist and had been shaped like a rose. Her earrings and bracelet followed the same design, though in a much smaller size.

“Those are the very first jewels we produced. Lord Starling said they are rightfully mine.”

“Oh, I hope I will marry a man as kind as Lord Starling!” Margaery said dreamily.

“Well, from what I hear, I can safely say that your soon-to-be betrothed is very kind and honourable.”

Margaery smiled. “I’ve had the same impression. My lady, if it won't be impertinence… but you grew up together. Would you tell me about him?”

Dany smiled and nodded, a warm feeling of a gained friend taking root.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned was momentarily shocked by what Howland was proposing.

“I hope I'm not being impertinent,” the Lord of Greywater Watch said as he noticed Ned’s expression.

“Never, my friend,” Ned said. “It’s just… you are aware of Bran’s condition, are you not?”

Howland smiled. “I am. My offer still stands.”

Ned chuckled. _The crannogmen and their eccentricities_. “I would be honoured to say yes, but I must insist you do not do this out of pity.”

“I am not, Ned,” the small man insisted. “I wouldn’t offend you as much.”

Ned smiled. “I won't force anything on the children.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have expected it of you. But Bran and Meera met a few days ago and they seem to have become friends.”

“Yes, so I have noticed,” Ned agreed. “I know how much I owe you, Howland—”

“Nothing I’ve done for you is more than my duty to my liege. If anything, I owe your family much more for what your sister has done for me.”

Ned smiled nostalgically. “If Bran and Meera agree, my friend, I will be most honoured to call her daughter in a few years.”

Howland bowed his head. “Then I will be honoured to have my daughter join House Stark.”

They clasped their forearms, sealing the deal. “On that note, I shall need your help on something,” Ned said after they’d toasted the future union.

“Moat Cailin, I know,” Howland said. “I’ll have my men get started on the swamp as soon as I get back.

Ned chuckled. _I should have guessed_.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys and Margaery had been joined by the latter’s grandmother, who was delighting them with tales from her youth. Robb came up to the table and bowed his head in greeting.

“Lady Starling, Lady Olenna. Lady Margaery, I wonder if I might have the honour of this dance.”

Margaery smiled, took his hand, and Robb led them to the dance floor.

“What a beautiful pair they form,” Daenerys said.

“Oh yes, they do. Quite like you and Lord Starling.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Oh, child, I've seen enough of life and arranged marriages to know you won the big prize. Robert, the big oaf, may have tried to shame you, but he has no idea of the service he did you.”

Daenerys smiled. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. And I wonder if I may make a request.”

“Your husband saved my grandson’s life, Lady Starling. We owe you a debt of blood. And between the two of us, House Tyrell owes _you_ far more.”

“Thank you for the kind words, my lady, but I think we are both aware of our positions.”

“We are indeed.”

“I merely meant to ask if you would consider letting Margaery stay for a while after the tourney is over. I grew up with two little sisters, but not many friends who didn't care that I am the daughter of a mad man and betrothed to a bastard.”

“Such an ugly word for such a great man,” Olenna tutted, displeased.

“If only more people thought like you, my lady,” Daenerys stated.

“Oh, dear, if more people thought like me life would be at least a little more interesting.” They chuckled. “I'm sure Margaery won't object, but…”

“Lord Robb will return to Winterfell after the tourney, so there will be no impropriety on that front.”

“Oh, you're quick, thank the gods, I like you even more! Now, I will talk to my delightfully oafish son. He'll object, just for the sake of being difficult mind you, not that it’s likely to stop me.”

Dany smiled — she understood perfectly well why Olenna was called the ‘Queen of Thorns’.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Jon said, coming to where they sat. “I'm sorry to cut in, and I loathe to take your company, Lady Olenna, but I would like a dance with my wife.”

“As well you should, Lord Starling. Go, now, and make those empty-headed fools jealous of your luck.”

Chuckling, Jon led Dany to the dance floor, falling easily in pace with the song the minstrels were playing.

“I’m sorry you were nervous today,” he said.

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t so worried until you faced Jaime Lannister. His skill is legendary.”

“Was, I suppose, since he’s lost the past few competitions.” He twirled her around. “I’ve been training for months for a reason, Dany. I just… I just needed to at least get this far.”

“Why? People already know you’re skilled with a blade, you defeated that bloody monster. Why must you take such risks?”

He sighed. “I need to be more than Ned Stark’s bastard, Dany. It’s not… it’s not about the mines or money, it’s just, these southern pompous arses, they only respect titles, until you demand they look at you and respect you. Even the northerners are a bit like that too. I needed to show them that the King didn’t knight me on a whim because I’m his friend’s son. I need to be my own person.”

The dance made them part ways for a moment, so Dany thought over his words. “Do you feel belittled by having married me?” she asked quietly once she was back in his arms.

“Gods, Dany, no! No, of course not! There’s nothing about us that I regret or dislike. I guess it’s just… it’s like you, wanting to be known as more than ‘the Mad King’s daughter’.”

“Oh.” He twirled her in the air again. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Jon shrugged. “Next time do tell me,” Dany insisted. “So I can know why you’re trying to make my heart stop.”

He chuckled, squeezing her as close as propriety allowed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

As Ella had seen Sansa and Arya to bed about an hour ago, Ned decided to check on Bran before he went to bed. It was into the small hours of the night and while the children and most of the ladies had already retired, the men were giving no indication of abandoning their drinks and friends.

He found Bran sitting at his bed, Maester Wolkan kneeling before him, and Jon and Robb standing nearby. “What is happening here?”

“Father!” Bran exclaimed with a huge smile. “Come and see, Father!”

Frowning, Ned came closer to the bed. The Maester was holding Bran’s right leg off the floor. When his father was within watching distance, Bran moved. _Bran moved his right foot_.

“What is the explanation to this?” Ned demanded in Jon’s solar afterwards, after the smiling and crying was done and Maester Wolkan had told Bran to rest and not force it lest it undo the progress.

“There isn't a concrete explanation I know of, my lord,” the maester replied. “Some conditions still baffle even us at the Citadel. I have a guess, one that I shared with Maester Luwin when Lord Bran started feeling the tinglings, and my colleague shares my opinion.”

“Then please share it with us,” Ned asked.

“We have been able to determine that all movement is connected to the spinal cord. Due to the nature of the fall and what I saw of Lord Bran’s back following the accident and his subsequent inability to move his legs after he woke up, I believed, and Maester Luwin agreed in his own examination, that the spinal cord had been severed. And that, as far as we know, is incurable.”

“So that wasn't what happened?”

“No, my lord. It seems it was only intense bruising. It pressed on the spinal cord, preventing movement until the clot had dissolved. Now that it has started to, Lord Bran has regained some movement.”

“He has been riding and moving about,” Jon said, worried. “Could that have—?”

“It only helped, my lord. You see, the blood pumping made the clot dissolve faster.”

“What now, Maester?” Ned asked.

“This is not something I have seen before, my lord. I recommend cautious exercises, little by little everyday to build up Lord Bran’s strength back up. But like a bone that has been broken, I do think it is hard that Lord Bran will recover completely to what he was before the fall.”

“But he’ll walk?” Ned insisted.

“Everything points in that direction, yes. Perhaps he shall need a cane, but it does look like he’ll walk on his own again.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Jon said, dismissing the man. He bowed and left the room.

Ned was smiling and crying at the same time. “I'm going to the godswood,” he announced.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys squealed as Jon twirled her on the air and she laughed, seeing his eyes shining as he put her down. She had been removing her heavy gown and jewellery when her husband burst into her dressing room. Irri and Doreah — used to their passionate blazes — quickly vanished.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked but Jon just dived for a hot and deep kiss.

“I'm happy,” he panted out in between kisses when they were already across the room, underway to the bedchamber.

“I can see that,” Daenerys managed to say when they ran out of air and Jon descended on her neck. “Why are you so happy?”

“Smaller reason: I threw Jamie Lannister onto the dirt,” he said throwing her on the bed and hurriedly tugging at his own clothing.

“And the big reason?” Dany asked, helping him.

“Bran is going to walk again.”

She gasped in surprise but before she could react to the news, Jon had pushed her on her back, bunched her shift at her hips, and both their mouths were too occupied to say anything else for a long while.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The first semi-final to take place in the morning was to happen between Ser Loras Tyrell and Prince Oberyn. Though equally skilled, if Loras won that would put him in the final likely against Jon, who was proving to be a wild card. Jaime Lannister hadn’t been seen since eating dust the previous day, not having attended the feast either — people were whispering about a bruised ego.

Jon was feeling anxiety butterflies in his stomach, patting Winterstorm’s neck just for something to do. Ghost was sitting next to him, but even his presence wasn’t soothing enough.

“That’s a good horse if I’ve ever seen one.”

Jon smiled, watching Ser Barristan approach. “Thank you. He’s a good lad. Been with me since he was a foal.”

“Well, half of a joust is a good mount, so you’ve got that covered. I was watching yesterday, you and the horse are one. What’s his name?” Barristan asked.

“Winterstorm.”

“You Starks and winters.”

Jon chuckled. “That one wasn’t on me. The mare was called Winter, she was my aunt Lyanna’s, and the stallion was a horse my father rode back from the war. A Dornish racing horse, the kind you don’t see much up here, but he was called Storm. It was obvious enough for a ten-year-old.”

Ser Barristan smiled. ‘If these past sixteen years have taught me anything, Ser,’ Ned Stark had said aboard the _Lady Daenerys_ , ‘is that life is filled with small ironies’. The knight had to agree. _So that is what happened to you, Storm,_ he thought, _you went to Winterfell to have foals!_

“Trust him to get you to the other side and focus on aiming. You put Jaime Lannister down — you can do this.”

Jon smiled back. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. It means a lot that you’re willing to help even though you are riding against me.”

The knight chuckled. “I’ve won my fair share of victor wreaths. It’s time to let you youngsters shine. Now, once the tourney is done I have one request, if I may be so bold.”

Jon chuckled. “I would be most honoured to grant any request to Ser Barristan, the Bold.”

Barristan laughed. “Very well, then. I’d like to spar.”

Jon smiled. “It would be my honour.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

As the crowd had expected and bet on, Ser Barristan had unseated Ser Robar Royce and in a tense tilt, Ser Loras had triumphed over the Red Viper. The highly anticipated finals divided the betting crowd: on one hand Ser Loras was the reigning champion, having given the title of victor away honourably; on the other, Jon had been a surprise from the moment he had appeared in Court and had exceeded all expectations throughout the Tourney.

The first four tilts were ties. Jon clung to Ser Barristan’s advice and held steadfast to Winterstorm, trusting the horse to remember their months of training, and focused on aiming. It worked on the fifth tilt: his lance exploded against Loras’ shield, who held onto the saddle by one foot in the stirrup, nearly strangling his poor horse. The judge declared the victory and Loras gracefully found his ground and bowed in acceptance of defeat.

Jon waited impatiently until Grenn took his helm and shield and then he turned Winterstorm around and went to the middle of the list. There were sighs, some very relieved, when he stopped in front of Daenerys. Patrik was waiting nearby with the little box Jon had had made just in case. Daenerys stood from her chair with a smile and Jon took the box from the servant, manoeuvring the horse to stop by her.

“My lady, I would name you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

And the day when Jon placed the crown of winter roses on Daenerys’ head was the day all the smiles came alive.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to clarify something that came up when Benjen and Ayla got their lands: the size of the Blessed Island. It is the same size as Portugal, which makes sense when you think Westeros is the size of South America. Therefore, it’s a pretty big island. 
> 
> What happened it that Jon was given the entire island – something a minor House would never have been able to fully exploit. But then he was raised to a major House and found the mines, so the island’s population is growing. As such, he needs other people to handle the pieces of land that will be too far for him to successfully manage. He’s given lands and castles to Sam and Benjen, who are now minor Houses sworn to House Starling, but there are also knights there who were given pieces of land to manage in Jon’s name, meaning that the land still belongs to House Starling, those people are just managing them and will become part of the army when called.
> 
> As to the question of whether or not Jon had the authority to gift lands and lordships: I couldn’t find a concrete explanation in canon so the rule in Winter Roses is that a lord of a major House can gift a piece of his lands and create a minor House sworn to him as long as he has the permission of his Lord Paramount. Therefore Jon had the idea and Ned allowed him to do it in both cases.


	28. 27 Secrets and Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feast after the end of the tourney takes place. Later, Ella is homesick and Ned has an important conversation with an important ally.

**Chapter 27**

**Secrets and Loyalties**

 

Once the excitement over the jousting was over, they held the archery competition. Theon managed to make it to the final three, but was beaten by the reigning champion, what meant he was sour and bad-humoured the rest of the day. The ale at the feast helped him improve it.

The mêlée was set to start an hour after luncheon. Robb invited Margaery to join him and his siblings, so the loudest table in the informal tent put up for the meal sat the two of them, Jon and Daenerys, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Meera, Sam, and Theon.

Lord Beric Dondarrion was the last one standing that afternoon, claiming the victory in the mêlée. As they made their way back to the castle, Ned turned to Ella.

“His squire seemed familiar. Do you know who the boy is?”

She smiled and nodded, before noticing they had company in the path. “I heard say the boy is Lord Edric Dayne. He is the heir to Starfall and the gossip in Court is that his father is very ill, so he is likely to come into his lordship even before he comes of age. He is fostered with Lord Beric because he is betrothed to his aunt Allyria Dayne.”

Ned squeezed her hand in solidarity. Other than when he asked her to get information from Arthur, Ella never spoke about her family. He could understand it — he couldn’t even fathom what it must be like to be so close, yet so far. And he could see now why the boy looked familiar. He had the same chin as Arthur, though his hair was pale blond, and he had such dark blue eyes they seemed purple. He curbed any more comments, though — to be seen speaking about the Daynes was a connection they didn’t need.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The feast was even louder than the night before and even the wedding feast. Daenerys had drawn all eyes in the room when she and Jon walked in. She was wearing a deep burgundy dress recalling the Targaryen red, a Starling blue belt, and the crown of winter roses, as befit the Queen of Love and Beauty. She had kept the winter diamond necklace with the winter rose pendant, but changed her earrings to a pair of rubies pending on a silver thread. She was the perfect embodiment of her birth family and the family she had married into.

Ned had momentarily brought the room to silence when he announced his betrothal to — to the public eye at least — a commoner. Robb had salvaged the situation by talking Ella’s hand, kissing the back of it, and welcoming her to House Stark ‘without reservations’. Arya was also in full support and Bran was wary but decided to follow Robb’s opinion, but Sansa still seemed a little unconvinced, though she knew better than to show it.

Lord Manderly was walking around with his chest puffed, proudly announcing to all that would hear about his new position as Vice Admiral of the Northern Fleet. The Northern lords were also shocked when Ned announced the betrothal between Bran and Meera Reed, as the crannogmen had the habit of keeping to themselves. The announcement of the betrothal between Robb and Margaery Tyrell, to be wedded after she turned sixteen, raised some eyebrows as well, but was happily cheered when they thought about the advantages of an alliance with the Reach come winter.

Other lords came seeking Sansa’s and Arya’s hands, but Ned said he'd think about other alliances on a later date. He was particularly irked when Roose Bolton asked for Sansa’s hand for his son Domeric and then he was really glad he had already said he would decide later.

He was standing at the side of the Great Hall, watching as Ella laughed while dancing with Robb when he was joined.

“She is a beauty, your intended. I can see why even the high and mighty Lord Stark would get into bed with a commoner, as long as she looked like that.”

Ned clenched his jaw. “Prince Oberyn,” he greeted.

“Some of the lords are whispering you should marry another lady. Waste, if you ask me. You already did the dull thing and married for duty, so I say go ahead and marry her. I'm quite certain a commoner is bound to make you much happier in bed than a prudish highborn.

“You might be a prince in Dorne,” Ned said through clenched teeth, “but you will not speak ill of my future wife again, or you’ll find yourself crossing blades with me.”

Oberyn threw his head back in laughter. “So fiercely defending the honour of a common woman!”

“The standing of her birth is irrelevant to her honour,” Ned snapped. “Take back what you said.”

“You know, for years there was gossip that it must have been a rare woman, to turn the head of Lord Eddard Stark and make him forget his beloved honour. Who’d imagine you—”

“Enough with that, Oberyn,” Ella cut in with a soft and sweet voice and gentle tone, not to raise the attention from other people. “You’re being obnoxious.”

“I am obnoxious,” the man answered simply.

Ella bit back a scoff. “Don’t I know that. Go find someone else to bother.” She smiled to keep up appearances.

The Prince rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s something I never understood but always admired, this talent you and my sister had of chastising us with a sweet and loving smile on your faces.”

“Keep it up and I’ll drop the smile. People know of your tongue, they won’t find it suspicious.”

“Alright, alright, I can see I’ve overstayed the joke. I'm going.” He smirked and then bowed his head in a flowery and showy manner. “Lady Ella. Lord Stark.”

Ella kept her smile until he was far enough away. “Obnoxious buffoon! I’m sorry, Ned, I should have guessed he’d do something, he could never help being a nuisance. I came as soon as I saw you two talking.”

“He knows?” Ned asked, his anger fading to give way to concern.

Ella nodded. “He recognised me last night — we grew up together, I knew he probably would. I would have told you, but you were in the godswood the whole night and then this morning there was no chance.”

“What if…?”

“He won't tell. Doran, maybe, but neither of them would tell Robert or betray me. I will— oh damned man!” she cursed and Ned turned to look where she was: Oberyn had left them only to go talk to Jon. “You told me Jon is aware his mother is dead.” She said in such a low voice he had trouble hearing it.

“He is.”

“And he knows I'm not her, right?”

“I told him and Robb, they know who you are and that you’re not Jon’s mother.”

“Good,” she said, walking away.

“What are you going to do?” he called after her.

“Improvise!”

Ella crossed the room to the place Oberyn was preparing to make another victim of his tongue.

“You must be rejoicing, Lord Starling, finally seeing your parents together,” the Prince was saying.

Jon frowned, about to argue when Ella arrived. “What part of the stop being obnoxious did you not understand?” she asked, again sweetly.

“It's very creepy, you know, I can see the anger in your eyes, but you coat your voice in—”

“It's called politics, Oberyn, and keeping up appearances.”

“You told me to go find someone else to bother!”

Ella wanted to punch him. She would have, if they weren’t in public. “Why don't you go find yourself some company?”

“Oh, I will. Soon enough. I'm busy using my tongue for something else now. Such as thanking your son for his outstanding performance against the child-murdering rapist. I’m sure Uncle Artie would be proud.”

“Ned is a great swordsman, and Jon is his father’s son. Get away with you, you've said your piece.”

Oberyn made a show of rolling his eyes. “Seventeen years later and you still berate me as if I were a child.”

“You behave like a child, be expected to be treated as one.” She put an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “Come along, Jon, he's not worth the time.”

Jon went with her, though he was increasingly confused. Ella led them to an empty corner near a table of drunken lords who were too absorbed in their own loud game to listen to other people talking.

“Father said—”

“I am not. But there's no reason to dig her up and drag her name through the mud. Besides, these people already think of me as a common whore, let them say what they will. As long as you know the truth.” Jon gave her a strange look. “What?”

“You would let them… but if my father already loved you, he broke—”

“He held no oaths to me.”

“But he loved you, and he betrayed that.”

“He had been told he would never be allowed to marry me in the first place. Then his sister vanished without a trace, his older brother rode south in a fool’s mission and got himself and their father killed by a mad tyrant. But that meant he needed to marry his brother’s betrothed, a woman he neither knew nor loved, to keep the alliance. He was fighting a war to avenge them and free his sister, a war he might not outlive. He had a moment of weakness, one I can resent but seeing his regret, one I can forgive.”

“Catelyn never could,” Jon pointed out.

 _Maybe she could have if she knew the truth, maybe I wouldn't have forgiven him if I didn't_ , Ella thought. “I'm not Catelyn.”

“No. Thank the gods for that.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Wyman Manderly was a smart man. He had been worried when Ned Stark had chosen the Blessed Island as the future home of his bastard and the last Targaryen, but had been reassured they were to be a minor House sworn to White Harbour. Then House Starling was elevated to a major House. Wyman had been initially furious, but had understood the reasoning afterwards.

He had been afraid having the Blessed Island inhabited again could take trade from White Harbour, but that never proved true — on the contrary. While the Blessed Island was the first point of stop, it only provided an outpost, and White Harbour continued being the most important port, since it was the first in the continental North. Also, with Jon Starling making trade deals with more Essosi merchants, White Harbour was receiving more foreign goods than ever and the northern lords were slowly starting to buy them.

Then the Starlings had discovered their mines and it seemed more likely that their own port would blossom and White Harbour would decline. So far, it hadn’t. White Harbour was still the main port in the continental North and nothing would change that. Also, with the mines, the Blessed Island wouldn’t undertake the northern trade of timber and wool and therefore wouldn’t interfere with what was already in place. So Wyman thought there was no reason to hold a grudge, knowing it hadn’t been Ned Stark’s intention to slight him nor had he been otherwise affected by the changes.

The title of Admiral had stung, though — House Manderly was the northern house with the biggest sea presence and House Starling was barely crawling from the cradle, but then again Lord Starling was Ned Stark’s son, a son he claimed but never had any standing of trueborn before his marriage. If rumours of the reason the former Lady Stark had been sent away were true, then Ned might have been trying to make up to his son all those slights growing up.

The betrothal with House Tyrell had been harder to swallow, especially since his granddaughter had been running Winterfell for nearly a year now. However, an alliance with the Reach would bring untold benefits once winter came, not to mention how White Harbour would profit from the growing trade. Wyman was unhappy, but he could still see logic.

That afternoon, he had been resting from the excitement the two days of tourney had brought, preparing for what the next day would bring with the showing of jewellery, when a squire had brought a message from Ned Stark, asking to meet him in the godswood as soon as it was convenient. Wyman had sent the squire away saying it was convenient now. After all, when your liege called, you answered.

He found Ned already sitting in a bench by the lake. “I might not follow the Old Gods,” he said when he was close enough, “but I have to admit it’s a peaceful place.”

“I didn’t mean to be disrespectful to your Faith, my lord. I merely wanted a place where we could talk without being overheard.”

Wyman felt the seriousness of the conversation. “Whatever you need of me, my Lord, I'm yours to command.”

Ned smiled softly. “House Stark is indeed very lucky to count with the loyalty and friendship of House Manderly.” He paused and Wyman waited for Ned to collect his thoughts. “My lord, you are older and more experienced than I am. We’ve seen a lot these past few years, and I am not fooled like the other empty heads to think your size makes you a craven. You are a clever man, and I need you on my side on this venture.”

“Always, Lord Stark, always. House Manderly will never forget the debt we owe the Starks. Whatever you need, you may command it of me.”

“King's Landing is a lion’s den, Lord Manderly. The Lannisters rule the place in all but name and they are forever wanting more power, damned be the law and the people. All the while, the King grows tired of his wife and heir and the Treasury suffers debt after debt.”

“Are you suggesting the King might set Cersei Lannister aside?”

“I don’t know, but I certainly fear it. In that case, Tywin Lannister will declare war.”

“That’s why you’re building a fleet, is it not Lord Stark?”

“It is. I named you the Vice Admiral not out of a slight, but for a practical reason. Jon is young, he can lead the ships at sea. But I need a good and experienced man leading the northern defences on the shore. You have held White Harbour for decades, I know I can trust you with that.”

Wyman smiled, bowing his head. “You most certainly can, my lord. No Lannister ship or any other enemy will land on our shores and survive to tell the tale.”

“I am assured of that. My southern alliances come from a desire to protect the North, my lord, not forget our origins. I know the First Men held the North until the dragons came knocking, but now that we are one realm, we must be a part of that realm, otherwise they will close themselves for us and we will starve when winter comes.”

“Very wise, Lord Stark, very wise.”

“ _The North Remembers_ , they say. But if no one speaks of a story, then it can never be remembered. Sometimes, it is for the best. Others, it is best if people from the outside — people who are trusted — also know of a secret, then when it’s needed, they can remember for one who cannot speak.”

“I would never betray your trust, Lord Stark.”

“I know. That is why I have chosen you to share this secret. Because there may come a day I shall need help to be sent and I need someone to know how to see help needs to be sent.” Ned sighed. “I know what is the gossip about my betrothed.”

“Rude mouths, my lord. The lady seems lovely and we all know you are not one to be charmed by a woman’s smile.”

“They call her common and even a whore. Well, as far as they know, she is common.”

“As far as they know, my lord?”

“I tell you this in confidence, Lord Manderly. I'm not trying to manipulate your loyalty. I could have told you to be prepared but never explain, invoking your loyalty to your liege lord. I'm telling you this because if it comes a time the unspeakable happens, someone outside the family can come to our aid. One who will see a Dayne banner and a ship from Starfall and know they are Lady Stark’s blood.”

Wyman was shocked into silence. He had _not_ seen that coming. There were rumours, of course, that whispered Ashara Dayne was Jon Starling’s mother, credible ones to those who had seen how infatuated she and Ned Stark had looked in Harenhall. These same rumours came accompanied with the sad story of her suicide.

“But I thought… the realm thinks her dead, my lord!”

“Indeed. Do you think our King would forgive one of Rhaegar Targaryen’s closest friends and one of the fiercest of Targaryen loyalists? They were both deeply involved with the dragons. To ensure the safety of their own House, the realm had to believe her dead.”

Wyman saw the cracks through the story. Ashara Dayne had been handmaiden to Princess Elia Martell, who was set to have been the next Targaryen queen, so her loyalty to the dragons was clear, especially taking into consideration how Robert Baratheon had stayed silent in regards to the brutal and horrifying slaughter of Rhaegar’s wife and children. Ser Arthur Dayne was also a fervent supporter of the Targaryen dynasty, not to mention openly a close friend to the fallen Prince of Dragonstone. Their disappearance to protect their House would not be very shocking.

But the story running about is that when Ned Stark had gone to rescue his sister he had had to cut down the Sword of the Morning to get to her. Regardless of his noble reasons, it was doubtful a woman who had faked her death to protect the standing of her House would risk returning to Court only to marry her brother’s killer. If the sister had faked her death, it seemed so had the brother. And if Ned Stark was involved, a friend of Robert Baratheon’s… perhaps the story of what had happened in that tower in Dorne had been only that — a story.

The Lord of White Harbour had no love lost for dragons, but he had heard enough about Rhaegar Targaryen to know it wasn’t in character for a prince so beloved by his people to kidnap and rape a woman, let alone a daughter of a Great House. He also knew enough of Lyanna Stark and her wolf’s blood to know even a full squadron would have had trouble taking her, and any man who tried to rape her would find himself sore one way or another. And Ned Stark had brought home the daughter of his father and brother’s murderer, the sister of the man who had ruined and killed his sister, and raised her lovingly with his own daughters. Things didn't add up. There was more to the story. There _had_ to be. It seemed as though Winterfell held more secrets than one would have thought.

“Don't worry, my lord. You can trust me.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My dear brother,_

_I hope you haven't been completely swallowed by the place around you. I miss you, Artie. I was watching the tourney yesterday and I missed you forever more. I wish you could have been here. You would have thrown all these jesters on their arses, I'm certain. Jon was superb, Artie, truly his father’s son. He was unstoppable, I know even you would have found so. Or perhaps if you had always been here, putting him through his paces for training, he would be more than superb, he would be epic. No one would even stand a chance then. And when he won, he rode to his wife and crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty with a wreath of winter roses. It was uncanny._

_There is something I haven't told you yet, and it's because first, I know what your reaction will be; and second, I wish you could truly be here. But now it's official and made public, so I must stop feeling hurt._

_Catelyn has joined the Faith, which has dissolved their marriage vows. So Ned and I are getting married. I know it's impossible, but I wish you could be there to give me away in Father’s place. Well, may big brother forgive me but if you could both be there, I would still choose you. But he is sick, Artie. I saw him just over a year ago, and gout has chained him to a bed. The maester said he wouldn't last the year, and even though he has, at any moment I'm expecting the raven that Edric is Lord Dayne. You would also be proud of our nephew, Artie. He is young, but very responsible. I do believe our House is in good hands._

_And I am counting down the days until I see you again. Robert is facing problems and the realm is drowning in debt, Artie. I hope Aerys is freezing in a special kind of hell, away from his beloved fire, but at least he knew how to balance accounts. Or at least he let Tywin handle it successfully. Robert is a petulant child who throws money in tourneys and whores and wine, and while he leaves the running of the realm to his Hand, he never listened to Jon Arryn and Ned has trouble trying to convince him of the most basic of things._

_Ned doesn't like to talk about it, he thinks it's treason, but I think winter is coming for the fat stag and the lions. Cersei is losing it, and it won't be long before Robert snaps and does something drastic that will make Tywin Lannister raise his banners. And as they consume each other, brother, I think we can call for a Restoration. I know you will ride to join us immediately, so of course I’ll send for you at the first whispers._

_I miss you, brother. Simple like that._

_Love,_

_Lady Ashara of House Dayne_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Arya frowned down at the crib, watching as Lyanna babbled and smiled, squirming in a cute velvet lilac dress that brought out her eyes.

“But what does she _do_?”

Daenerys chuckled. “Eat and sleep.”

“That’s boring. Can't she even get out of there?”

“You say as if she were a prisoner, the poor thing!” Margaery said.

Smiling, Dany bent down and took her daughter in her arms. “Would you like to hold her?”

“I'm fine, thanks,” Arya said with a scowl, watching her niece as if it was an alien creature.

“But I would,” Sansa said excitedly.

Dany chuckled again, passing Lyanna over to Sansa. “I was too young when Rickon was born,” the redhead said. “Oh, how cute she is!”

“When can she do something other than lie there?” Arya asked.

“Arya! Don't be annoying!” Sansa exclaimed.

“She'll walk around her first name day,” Daenerys said.

“She looks like you, Dany,” Sansa added.

“Really? I think she looks like Jon. Like a Stark.”

“I don't know how good that is,” Arya muttered. “Everyone says I look like a Stark and according to Sansa and her friends, I have a horse face.”

Sansa blushed in embarrassment but Margaery laughed. “One of my cousins always mocked me and called me ‘Pig-face’. She said I had a nose like a pig’s, and every time she’d pass me in the halls she’d oink.”

“You look nothing like a pig,” Arya said.

“Thank you, that does make me feel better,” Margaery replied. “Doesn't mean the little nasty girl didn't call me that for years. I learned to ignore her. You should too. I think you look beautiful.”

Arya smiled. Maybe not all southerners were a bore.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

When Ned came into the room, he found Ella in the balcony staring out into the dark sky. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“I'm being silly,” she said simply.

“It can't be only that.”

“How was your talk with Lord Manderly?”

“Good, I think. I still think it's a risky gamble.”

“Ned, you need the support of your bannermen and the Manderlys are powerful allies, extremely loyal to you. But since Robert’s visit they've been suffering blow after blow. Maybe they wouldn't act on it, but you needed to stop any resentment from festering. If they're extremely loyal, you must show you trust them equally as forcefully.”

He sighed, sitting at the sofa by the unlit fire. “I still don't like this game of politics.”

She smiled, leaving the balcony and coming to join him. “You're getting better at it.”

“You only have yourself to blame.” She curled up next to him, laying her head on his chest. “What is wrong?”

“It's nothing,” she muttered against his shirt. “I told you I'm being silly.”

“If it's gotten you this upset, I doubt it is silly.”

“It is. It's nothing. I just…”

“Ashara,” Ned whispered. “Please, tell me.”

She sighed, but sat up though she refused to lift her head. “My moon blood came,” she confessed and he felt sadness poking at his heart. “I told you, it's silly, we don't… we don't even know if it _can_ happen—”

“We know it can, Ash.”

“I haven't… just because I got pregnant once… it didn't even work out that one time. What of course turned out—”

“It did _not_ turn out for the best, Ash, you know that and you don't meant it. Nothing would have been more important than our little girl, not even all the gossip and trouble in the world.”

“I… but what if I can’t? What if I can’t get pregnant?”

“I told you that is not the reason I'm marrying you. I love you.”

“What if I need children? What if I need to feel my belly growing with our child again? What if what I most desire in the world is to hold our child in my arms and to see them live more than a few days?”

Ned was unsure of what to say. “You can’t torture yourself like this,” he said after a few moments of silence. “I am no maester but I'm sure all this stress can't be good for you.”

“It’s easy for you to say that,” she mumbled. “You already have children.”

“Maybe,” he retorted, wounded. “Or maybe I just love you enough to be happy we can finally be together. You think I don’t want that, Ashara? To see you carrying my child, to see our love blossom like that, to grow proud of our child as they grew up? I want that, of course I do. But I won't torture myself over it. In Harenhall you told me to live everyday like it was special, remember? Like it had meaning. I forgot that for years, but finally I remembered. Now it seems you’re the one who forgot it.”

He stood up and left the room. Ashara fell back in the sofa in a even worse mood than before.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	29. 28 Lucky Horseshoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned talks to Benjen about his past with Ashara. Dany confronts Jaime and then asks Jon for something that may be a great risk. Ella, Sansa, and Arya comfort each other. And the youngest Stark girl meets someone new in the forge.

**Chapter 28**

**Lucky Horseshoe**

 

Benjen followed the dull metallic thuds down to the back of the armoury. The servants had been gossiping and his wife couldn’t help herself but to meddle in household issues, so she had been in the kitchen to hear the talk and she ran back up to tell him.

“I think I haven’t seen you do this ever since the day Lyanna and Father had their huge argument about her unwelcome betrothal.”

Ned sighed, dropping his arm and taking a step back. “I guess I had it coming.”

“I think it’s called bottling it up, big brother. Want to tell me what finally made you tip over? I cleared the place, there’s no one to overhear us.”

The Lord of Winterfell felt a pure wave of frustration and helplessness threaten to swallow him whole. “I’ve never told you.”

“You have to stop keeping secrets, Ned,” Benjen said seriously. “It will drive you mad one day.”

“Do you remember Harenhall?”

Benjen snorted. “As if any of us could ever forget it.”

“Well… you… remember how Brandon asked…”

“Brandon asked Ashara a dance in your name and then you two were inseparable for the rest of the night.” He frowned. “Am I finally going to find out for certain why Lyanna was unmaking your bunk to make it look like it had been slept in for big brother’s benefit? Not that it was much of a stretch before.”

Ned blushed deeply. “I never did thank her for that. Brandon would never have let me live it down.”

“No, he wouldn’t have,” Benjen agreed. “As if he had any moral to censor you or anyone else in that regard.”

“Anyway,” Ned cleared his throat. “We were… we did…”

“You were together.”

“Aye. I was going to ask Father leave to marry her, but then on the way north I had to go back to the Vale and when I met all of you again it was on the way to Riverrun.”

“Not me,” Benjen pointed out. “I was the Stark in Winterfell.”

“Aye. Father had stayed back and I met Brandon up ahead.”

“He never could hold his horse back.”

“Neither him nor Lya. I talked to him about Ashara, about how I was going to ask Father permission to ride south.”

“Let me guess: Brandon told you that you were going nowhere?” Benjen said and Ned raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t there those last few months, brother. Lya was insufferable, threatening to run away or jump from the top of a tower if Robert as much as crossed the Neck. Well, I doubt she’d actually jump, but I never doubted she’d run away, and she did prove me right in the end. And Brandon was getting moodier and moodier as his wedding day approached, chasing every skirt that crossed his way, cursing the idea of chaining himself down.”

“I rather think he and Robert would make fast friends,” Ned muttered.

Benjen chuckled. “I can see why he wouldn’t let you go. He would have wanted to spread his misery. He saw how in love you were and at least until he was feeling less oppressed he wouldn’t have allowed any happiness around him.”

“I suppose that explains why he rushed south.”

“Delay it as much he could certainly,” Benjen agreed. “Pretty sure all he wanted was to butt into Lya’s happiness, make her come out from hiding. But that is taking us from the star you were chasing.”

Ned blushed. “Well, you know how I had to marry Catelyn. I wish… if she had told me…”

Benjen frowned. “Ned, are…” he stared at the tear falling down his face. “What happened?”

“I never knew, not until after the Sack. When I was about to leave King’s Landing, to go looking anywhere, she had heard what happened and sent me an encrypted message saying where Lyanna was. After… when we stopped at Starfall was when she finally told me.”

Benjen felt a weight fall in his stomach. “Ned, you don’t… you can’t mean…”

Ned nodded. “She had gotten pregnant. A little girl. She only lived a few days.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“She sent me a letter, asking how soon I could go to Dorne. I replied saying I was on my way to Riverrun and that after Brandon’s wedding I would go straight there. And then everything was ruined. By the time our baby girl was born, Ashara had heard I was married to Catelyn.”

Benjen let out a string of loud curses. “So by the time you got to Starfall…”

“Ashara showed me where she was. I… we agreed we shouldn’t disturb her.”

“I’m sorry, Ned. I can’t… I can’t even imagine what it must have been like.”

“It was… it still is a bit abstract. As if hearing that a friend has had a child. I didn’t… I didn’t see Ashara grow heavy, I didn’t see our daughter born, I… all I saw was a grave. A grave and the love of my life, crying, destroyed, and completely unattainable. I had lost Brandon and Father, I had been forced to marry a woman I did not love, I had just watched our sister die in my arms after I had spent so much time and energy fighting to save her from something she had never even needed rescuing from. I felt… I still feel the loss, but it isn’t… it isn’t like Sansa and Arya. They were always there, Benjen. But… and then guilt floods me, because she was my daughter and I mourn her, I mourn never even having known about her before she was already gone. But sometimes it feels like I’m mourning an idea. A stranger I’ve never met.”

“I suppose being so near to Ashara now…”

“She… we argued just now. She was sad that… that her moon blood came. I told her that wasn’t the reason I was marrying her, but I just… the way she talked, Benjen… what if that is the reason she is—”

“Alright, stop. That woman loves you, so don’t even finish that thought.”

“I know. I just…”

“Look, the way our world works, women are raised with the idea that their worth is providing heirs to their husbands. She loves you, so she loved your child much more than a duty-bound wife would, and she lived that loss in a very hard moment, when the world was going to hells around her head.”

“She is afraid she is not… that she won’t be capable of bearing me a child.”

“See. She knows you love her, but still she thinks her worth as your wife is down to that.”

“I’ve told her it isn’t.”

“If my months of trying to woo a damned stubborn woman were any learning experience, brother, _saying_ something works for shit. You’ve got to _show_ her. Not through one little thing, but every day with a new thing. And please, don’t think only giving her flowers will do the trick.”

Ned chuckled. “I thought you were supposed to be commanding the army, not chasing after the housekeeper.”

Benjen shrugged. “The army took its sweet time travelling here. I had plenty of time. Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

They both laughed and Ned had an idea.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys was crossing the castle back to the family wing. It was getting near enough the time for bed that only servants were crossing the otherwise empty corridors, but she wasn’t worried — Orys was guarding her and Ghost was gliding next to her, so silently that sometimes the flash of his white fur coming into her line of view startled her.

“Ser Jaime,” she called when she neared the last staircase on her way. “you’ve been quite the elusive figure since the quarterfinals.”

The knight blushed and looked away. “I was… I was trying to find my way to the kitchens, if it wouldn’t be an imposition. I was absent from supper.”

“I’ll have a servant bring you food,” Dany said. “Why do you do that?” she asked and Jaime looked up, blushed deeply, and looked away again.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You are flippant and portray yourself as someone who doesn’t have a single care in the world. You look to be so arrogant that you don’t let the opinions of mere mortals affect your god-like importance.”

“A lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinion of sheep.”

“Perhaps. But it looks like he concerns himself with the opinion of a dragon, because you can’t even bear to look at me.” Jaime clenched his jaw and tried looking at her. He managed three seconds staring at her amethyst eyes before looking away again. “Is it due to what your nephew did in Winterfell? Or is it because you drove a knife in my father’s back?”

He sighed. “I regret that it was on his back. I wish he’d been facing me in better terms. But I don’t regret killing him. It was mercy for thousands.”

Dany walked forward until she was within an arm’s length. “Why?”

Jaime looked into her eyes again and she saw the regret but, ultimately, the immense sadness his eyes held. “You look like her,” he whispered finally. “Your mother. You are her spitting image. And every time I look at you I am reminded of how I failed her,” he confessed truthfully, but Dany saw the moment his eyes closed off again, ending his moment of vulnerability. “But you mean nothing to me, Daenerys Starling. You’re a fallen princess, married to a bastard, forced to rot in the North. You will never be what Rhaella Targaryen was.”

And he walked away briskly, as if running from a ghost.

“He was lying,” Orys said from her back. “About the second part at least.”

“I know,” Dany stated. “Orys, after we reach my chambers, send for the kitchens and have someone bring him food, I don’t want him skulking about the place. Then send for Ser Barristan and tell him I would like a walk through the gardens at some point tomorrow. Preferably after he and Lord Starling finish their display in the courtyard, as everyone else should be sufficiently busy gossiping about that to hear what we’re talking about.”

She started on the way back up to the family wing, cursing lions and mad dragons in her mind.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella was curled up in bed, still fighting away her sadness. Tears were now rushing down her face, because of the memories that were brought back, the sight of the blood in her smallclothes, and her conversation with Ned. She was so lost in her own misery she didn’t hear the door open.

“Ella?” called the little voice anxiously.

She startled, sitting up. “Sansa! What is it?”

“Sorry, I… are you crying?”

“Oh, it’s… it’s nothing, dear. Couldn’t you sleep? Is it your shoulder again?”

Sansa nodded. “I can… I can go if…”

“No, no, this is nothing. Why are you still awake?”

“It is my shoulder. It’s worsening. Every day it feels like it is healing but at the same time the pain is getting stronger.”

“Alright, we are seeing the maester,” Ella started to stand up.

“But Ella!”

“No, Sansa, this is not normal! We are seeing the maester and we’re telling your father.”

“But it’s only when I try to sleep.”

“You just said it’s getting worse. We’re seeing the maester and that is final.”

“Can it at least wait until morning?”

Ella looked at the shadows beneath her eyes, visible proof of her nights badly slept, and agreed. Sansa fidgeted, playing with the hem of her wrap. “Do you want me to go back with you and tuck you in?” Ella asked and Sansa shrugged. The woman smiled. “Very well, come here then.”

Sansa looked up. “I didn’t… I…”

“Come, sweet. I need the company.”

Smiling, the girl set her wrap and robe on a chair next to the bed and climbed onto the side Ella wasn’t in, her slippers clanking against the floor. The woman opened her arms and Sansa nestled into her.

Ella exhaled, caressing Sansa’s long auburn hair, taking comfort from her presence. A few minutes later, the door creaked open again and Ella raised her head, careful to not disturb Sansa’s slumber.

“Night terrors?” she asked in a whisper.

Arya shrugged, blushing slightly. “I dreamt Sansa was hurt. That she’d been shot in the shoulder.”

Ella frowned. At Sansa’s insistence, they hadn’t told anyone about the girl’s night-time pains, so how was it Arya knew? Deciding to leave the mystery for later, she shifted to her back and opened the arm Sansa wasn’t lying on. “Come here. We can all protect each other from night terrors.”

Arya smiled and climbed on the bed as well, falling asleep quickly. Ella felt some of her pain ease. Maybe this was enough. Maybe this _would have_ to be enough. She lost track of time and was almost letting sleep take over her when the door creaked a third time.

Ned froze at the threshold, watching the three women of his life. His heart lurched, thinking there were supposed to be four of them in that bed.

“What is that face for?” Ella asked quietly.

“I wish I were a painter,” he whispered back. “So I could sketch this and look on it forever.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He shook his head. “We’ll talk in the morning. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Ned tiptoed out of the room, going back to his chambers and his still unused bed. Warm inside, Ella finally fell asleep.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon set aside the book he was reading on Valyrian trade when Daenerys walked into the room. It wasn’t the most entertaining reading, but it was interesting nonetheless.

“I want money,” Daenerys stated, stopping by the foot of the bed with both hands on her hips.

Jon was stunned as he sat back against the pillows. “I’m not sure there’s a safe way to answer to that.”

She glared at him. “I want to invest in a project.”

“Alright. What?”

“Unless you think I should be a completely empty-headed fool with nothing to do with my time other than gossip about who wore which dress.”

It was his turn to glare. “You know that is the very last thing I want. I merely want to know what you’d like to invest in and whether or not it could potentially bankrupt us.”

Dany sighed. “You and Ser Davos were talking about innovating and creating a school of sorts to train the sailors. It got me thinking — what if we had one of those for farming and such? Or imagine if we built a cooking school, with teachers from all over the Seven Kingdoms and Essos? Ladies from all over would ask for our cooks.”

“I think that may be a bit too wild actually.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a Northman sometimes! I know the Northern lords will be the last ones to ever agree with such frivolity — and they are right, there are more important things when winter comes. But can you imagine how the Southern ladies would react? How their parties would be grand and the food so exotic?”

“You really think that would work? It seems like it could be a huge failure.”

“The ladies were commenting on the food during the feasts because of the spices we’ve been buying from Essos. Of course you men wouldn’t notice. But they’ve already expressed interest. I heard of a Myrish woman who is living at Sunstone, I’ve asked her to come and help the cook for the feast tomorrow.”

“Alright. If people do show interest and therefore it looks like it’s a reasonable investment I’m all for it. That Magister from Pentos, the one who gave you the eggs, he’s talking about opening more trade lines, I suppose we can get a good deal for spices and ingredients since he’s so eager.”

“Good. So I can have the money?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “If tomorrow the ladies demonstrate interest, we can sit with Sam and look what we can do regarding finances. I don’t want to censor you, Dany, but we’re investing a lot in the mining business and this tourney and wedding and the jewellery show are being damn expensive.”

“It’s a good investment.”

He chuckled. “Yes, it is. The jewellery show was a stroke of genius. See, I know you’re smart.”

Dany smiled. “Very smart of you to say that, my dear husband,” she said, letting her dress drop to the floor and baring her small clothes.

Jon let his chin fall in awe. “Were you planning in resorting to this to convince me?”

She shrugged. “I was hoping I wouldn’t need to _show_ you how trade with Essos is interesting to convince you. We can say this is a reward for being a good husband and listening to your wife.”

He eyed the flimsy red silk embroidered with blue lace. “How do they even _do_ anything in Essos?”

Dany laughed. “If everyone is dressed like this, I guess it loses the appeal. I’ve been told we Northerners are very prudish.

“Good,” Jon said, reaching for her and pulling her to the bed with him. “I think I like being surprised like this.”

Dany smiled, kissing a line up his jaw to his earlobe. “Good thing I got a few different colours, then, I suppose,” she whispered.

Jon groaned. “You’re menace.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Arya pulled the horse carefully through the courtyard. She didn’t have Sansa’s love for pretty things, therefore she had no ardent desire to join the jewellery show, so she had decided to go for a ride, even if alone. But halfway through the bridge to the main island the horse had thrown a shoe, so she had had to walk the whole way back. She was nearly stomping now, in a way Ella would certainly censor, because apparently every servant in the castle had decided to take the day off to snoop around the jewellery show, because no one had been in sight to take the horse.

Knowing she couldn’t just leave the poor animal to its own luck, she walked down to the forge. It was nearly empty, except for two people at the back. One of them was clearly an apprentice, a boy who looked younger than Bran and was excitedly watching as the older boy showed him the proper way to use a tool.

“Excuse me,” she called out, getting their attention, making them both jump up and stand straighter. “I need a smith.”

The older boy bowed his head. “Of course, milady. What can I do for you?”

He set down the tool, cleaned his hands in a rag and pulled a shirt quickly over his head. Arya was impressed by the size of his arms and looked quickly to the animal standing next to her to hide her blush.

“Horse threw a shoe,” she said.

“We only make weapons,” the young boy said. “We don’t care for them horses.”

Arya was amused. The boy looked like he didn’t know what side of a sword pieced a man, but he was clearly very proud of being part of the ‘we’. The older boy chuckled.

“Drennan, is right, milady. And Lord Starling is very demanding when it comes to the horses. I can see if there’s anything else on the hoof, remove it so he won’t hurt himself, but then I’d say I’ll just take ‘im to the stables and wait for Sal. He’s the one who does all the shoeing.” He eyed the wolf embroidered on her chest. “I’ll take ‘im from here, milady. You should go to the presentation.”

“No, thanks. Why are you the only ones who seem to not have gone?”

The smith shrugged. “I helped the jeweller with a bit of it, apparently I have an eye for detail. My former master also said that.”

Arya frowned. “I’ve seen you before.”

“Name’s Gendry, milady. Lord Starling hired me in King’s Landing, you probably saw me in the Tower of the Hands for a few days.”

“Nice to meet you, Gendry,” she said with a small smile. “I’m Arya Stark.”

He smiled back quickly before turning back to the cranky horse.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I’ve made a very amateur but I suppose reasonable enough map of the Blessed Island, to help situate you better.
> 
> To help situate you as well, the dates. I’m working mostly with show-based birthdays, since that is my primary source. Also, to avoid unnecessary complications, I'm working with the assumption that Westeros functions in a calendar with 12 months with roughly 30 days each, so very much like our own. Also, even if the harshest climatic changes are random – they’re living a 10-year-long summer – I’m working with the assumption that there’s some sort of climatic variation over the course of a year, otherwise they’d never have organised themselves in years and there wouldn’t be the canonic date for a harvest festival.
> 
> In short: this story started in 12/296 and we’re mid-03/298 AL.  
> Jon’s birthday is 21/12/281, so he’s 16.  
> Dany’s birthday is 21/6/282, so she’s 15.  
> Robb’s birthday is 1/8/281, so he’s 16.  
> Margaery’s birthday is (for now) 2/284, so she’s 14.  
> Sansa’s birthday is 5/11/285, so she’s 12.  
> Arya’s birthday is 16/7/287, so she’s 10.  
> Gendry’s birthday is 2/2/283, so he’s 14.  
> Bran’s birthday is 7/6/288, so he’s 9.  
> Rickon’s birthday is 22/9/292, so he’s 5.  
> Ned is from 262, so 36. Ashara is 34, Benjen is 32, and Ayla is 31.


	30. 29 Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella tries to figure out what is wrong with Sansa before she and Ned have a heart to heart. Jon and Ser Barristan spar, and in front of a very special guest, and afterwards Dany and the Kingsguard talk. As the family relaxes in a picnic in the gardens, visitors arrive in the castle. Finally, the mystery of Sansa's and Arya's night terrors are explained.

**Chapter 29**

**Connections**

 

Ella watched impatiently as Maester Wolkan examined Sansa. She had allowed the girls — and herself — to sleep in a little bit that morning and had dragged her eldest stepdaughter to the infirmary as soon as they were done with breakfast.

“I don’t see anything wrong from the outside,” the maester said with a frown. “You say you only feel this when you’re asleep?” Sansa nodded. “For how long?”

“We were three days from landing, I think. I had a weird dream, I don’t remember much of it, but I know it looked like I was in the middle of the woods and suddenly there were loud voices. Then I woke up.”

“She woke up yelling,” Ella said. “She was still a bit incoherent when I got to her cabin, but she said she felt like she’d been shot in the shoulder. I thought it was only an impressive dream, that she’d shake it off by morning. But every night since then it’s the same thing, she has night terrors and feels that pain.”

“So the pain is connected to the night terrors, not to her body properly,” the maester conjectured. “I can give you something to sleep, but I don’t know what else would work.”

“Sleeping potions are addictive,” Ella protested. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The maester hummed. “You can try having some soothing tea before bed, and if that doesn’t help any, then we can try only a drop of a potion. Should be enough without being too addictive.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Ella said, although displeased.

“I think I have some valerian roots here,” the man said, turning to a cupboard. “At the very least I have lavender.”

There was a sudden knock on the door, which was opened before anyone had the chance to react and Ned walked in, a frown on his face. “What is it? What is happening?” He looked at Sansa, who was sitting on the cot. “Darling, are you ill?”

The girl shook her head and blushed, looking down. Ned looked up at Ella. “She had some night terrors,” the woman explained softly. “What is nothing to be ashamed of,” she added when Sansa blushed even deeper.

“No, of course not,” Ned agreed, but he set a hand on Sansa’s shoulder, making her cry out.

“The night terrors are making her feel some pain in her shoulder,” Ella clarified.

Ned’s frown deepened. “What is being done for it? A sleeping potion?”

Ella glared him. “Most certainly not. Those are highly addictive, we’ll only go there as a last resort.”

Ned nodded, watching as Maester Wolkan gave Ella some roots and dried leaves, asking them to come back if Sansa got worse or didn’t get better. The girl stood up and reached for her stepmother, who drew her into a hug as they walked out of the room.

“Do you want to sneak in a nap before we need to get ready for the jewellery show?” Ella asked.

Sansa shook her head. “I slept better last night. Aunt Ayla said she would show me a new stitching she is making. May I go?”

“Of course, darling. I’ll come check on you when it’s time to go.”

Sansa smiled softly and walked away.

“I want to talk to you,” Ned said when they were alone, leading the way to his chambers. “Both girls were sleeping with you last night. Is Arya well?”

Ella nodded. “It’s the weirdest thing, Ned. Sansa dreams she’s been shot in the shoulder, and she is feeling the pain connected to it. Then Arya, unknowing about it, had the same dream about Sansa having been shot. There is something happening. Something magical.”

“You can’t believe in magic. The Citadel says...” Ned started and Ella threw him an unamused look.

“Here, maybe, where the Citadel quenches all possibility of magic. Westeros hasn’t seen proper magic ever since the last Targaryen dragon died. But Essos is a different thing. They have warlocks everywhere and some argue that the Red Priests and Priestesses get their visions in the flames through magic. But they didn’t get into any contact with anything magical, so why is this happening?”

Ned sighed. “I don’t know. I just want them to be well.”

“They will,” Ella reassured. “She already slept better last night, whatever it is, it is going to get better.”

Ned smiled. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Both, I suppose.” She sighed. “About last night, I want to apologise. I was frustrated and I snapped at you. I should have…”

“Ashara,” he called softly, raising her chin so she’d look at him. “We never… we never had time to mourn her. We never had time to discuss it either. I miss her too, even if I never… all I know is what you told me afterwards. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to carry her—”

“Lyarra,” she whispered. “I named her Lyarra. I didn’t… I thought you were dealing with enough grief to know it back then.”

Ned felt his eyes fill with tears that were promptly shed. “Even when… even when I had betrayed my word to you… you would honour me so?”

“You did what you had to do. I might have… I might have cursed a little bit when I heard. Well, a lot. My brother was worried I would be sick from all the yelling, actually. But once I calmed down there was only sadness and sympathy left. You had just lost most of your family, I couldn’t hold following your duty against you.”

His tears came more fiercely and he hugged her tighter.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon and Daenerys were walking around the room with easy smiles, greeting everyone in attendance. The master jeweller was proudly talking about his pieces to anyone who asked anything, and his two apprentices were running around noting down the orders.

The winter diamond was the gem with the highest amount of requests — reason why they had decided to make only a small number of pieces. With a purple dress on, Dany was wearing amethysts today, making her eyes pop beautifully. She stopped to talk with Margaery, so Jon continued walking around alone.

Robb joined him, anxiously looking around to check he wasn’t being overheard. “Do you think I should make a gift to my betrothed?”

Jon smiled. “Gods, you’re hopeless.”

“I’m only wondering about etiquette!”

“Aye, I’m sure,” Jon said sarcastically. “Did you ask Father?”

Robb blushed. “He said it should be my decision and that I should be the one to choose what I wished to gift her.”

“Come on, brother, I think I have something you might like.” Jon led the way to a display across the room. “Here, these are more informal, more for day to day use.”

“Oh! Aye, aye, that’s probably best. Less pressure.”

Jon laughed. “You know, I remember a time when you were mocking me about your conquests while I — how did Theon put it? Oh, I ‘kept myself pure and untouched for my betrothed’.”

Robb had the decency of blushing. “Fine, fine, I get the difference now, alright. Fucking is different than courting.”

Jon turned serious. “Robb, don’t… just don’t have a bastard. You don’t… you can’t know what it’s like. No child deserves that. And you don’t want you or your child to suffer your wife’s reaction.”

Robb fingered one of the necklaces. “No, I wouldn’t want that disappointment.”

Silence fell over them, stifling, so Jon was very relieved and glad for the distraction when Lord Royce came up to them and started to talk.

“This was indeed a genius idea, my dear lady wife,” Jon whispered in Daenerys’s ear about an hour later, after he’d seen the list of orders from the jeweller.

She smiled brilliantly. “Why thank you, my sweet lord husband. Does that mean…?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk to Sam, remember?” he chuckled as she pouted.

Their attention was drawn to the middle of the room, where suddenly Lady Olenna and Prince Oberyn had broken into a battle of wits over the purchase of one necklace.

“I don’t think it was wise to have those two in the same room,” Jon muttered under his breath.

Dany chuckled. “Let them make their bids — the highest offer takes the necklace. That will be awful for their egos but great for our coffers.”

Jon laughed. “Lady Starling, how devious! What do you call this behaviour?”

“Politics, Lord Starling. Exploring opportunities that will lead to other opportunities for the betterment of everyone.”

Jon chuckled and kissed the back of her hand before they left to try and defuse the situation.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bran was so excited he was shaking in his chair and Summer was looking at his companion with something akin to curiosity. Though every day Maester Wolkan came and they did some exercises, the boy couldn’t yet stand on his own so he was still reliant on the wheeled chair. Jon had cleared a place on one side of the training grounds so his little brother could have an unimpeded view of the sparring match, knowing how much Bran admired knights and Ser Barristan. Uncle Benjen and Ayla had been the first to arrive and were standing next to Bran, and the woman placed a blanket over Bran’s legs — some of the shaking went away. Soon after that, Ned came, looking sad but still with a smile on his face. Ella and Sansa came with him and Arya had appeared then, her dress untidy and her braid partly undone.

“Arya!” Ella censored in a quiet voice. “What did we talk about our appointments and our appearance in public?”

“I had already seen most of the jewels with Jon the other day, I didn’t want to go!”

“And what is the rule?” Ella insisted.

Arya rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I have to tell you so you won't worry.”

Ella tapped her shoulders lightly, forcing her to stand up straight. “You broke the rule and now you’re being rude — never roll your eyes at an adult. You’re a proper young lady, not some street child, use your manners.”

“I'm sorry, Ella. But the horse threw a shoe.”

“Oh, the poor horse. At least it’ll have time to recuperate, since you won’t be riding tomorrow.”

“But Ella!” Arya whined.

Ella merely raised an eyebrow as she tried to fix the girl’s hair while Robb and Margaery joined them, Theon trailing behind. Ser Barristan came to the training yard then, stopping to talk to some knights across from where they were. The crowd was thick, as almost everyone in the island was in attendance, making the yard seem almost claustrophobically filled. A few moments later, Jon and Sam joined them.

“Aunt Ayla,” Jon called, “you wouldn’t happen to know where my lady wife is and what she is plotting, would you?”

She chuckled. “Oh, my dearest nephew, why ever would you think that?”

Jon only rolled his eyes and his question was soon answered when Daenerys came into the yard. Ghost and Grey Wind were flanking her, clearly in guard position, and at least four guards led by Rellos and Orys came behind her as she brought Lyanna in her arms. The child was wearing a velvet dress blue as frost and had a small sash of grey silk wrapped around her little head, lost amidst her dark brown curls, with a single dot of a winter diamond adorning it, and a silver rose broach on her chest.

“She came to wish her papa luck,” Daenerys said as she came up to their family, making Jon smile and reach for their daughter.

Around the training yard, people were smiling and some ladies were sighing. Lyanna gurgled and clapped her tiny hands, delighted to be in her father’s arms.

“I feel like the luckiest man alive already,” Jon said quietly so that only their family could hear. He tickled Lyanna, getting a giggle in return, then kissed her cheek to her greatest amusement. She bumped her face on his cheek in return, her own version of a kiss, and Jon chuckled.

“I’ll take her if you don’t mind, Daenerys,” Ned said eagerly.

Lyanna squealed, turning around at the voice and clumsily throwing herself forward to reach her grandfather. Laughing, Jon held her back and carefully passed her over to his father. Joining her husband’s laughter, Daenerys reached for the little length of blue silk wrapped on her daughter’s wrist like a bracelet and unwrapped it. Jon raised his wrist so Dany could wrap the favour there, and by now there were several ‘aaw’s being heard. He kissed the back of Dany’s hand, patted Lya’s head one last time and turned around to the sparring area.

Ser Barristan was smiling, looking at the little girl. “That’s an unfair advantage you have there, my lord,” he said though Jon knew it was good-naturedly. “You fight with the favour of the loveliest girl in the kingdoms.”

“People are anxious, my kind knights,” Benjen said, acting as a referee.

“You’re right, Uncle. Let’s begin, shall we?”

Both Jon and Ser Barristan were wearing simple boiled leather armour, neither having expected to need the heavier protection of plate — their swords were, obviously, blunt tourney swords. They took their positions and Benjen allowed the start of the match. They circled each other, measuring their opponent, neither willing to start.

Finally, Jon lost his patience and attacked. Ser Barristan successfully parried and they were locked in a clash of swords for a moment until the Kingsguard managed to step back. He was the one who attacked this time and though he had at least half a century on him, Jon was not finding this an easy match. Old he might be, but Ser Barristan was showing why he had acquired a place in the highest martial order of the realm.

Every attack was followed by a defence and every inch of ground he took, Jon found himself quickly losing. He could see Ser Barristan was tiring, but that was an unfair advantage. And it served nothing, in the end. In a complicated trance of swords, both Jon and Ser Barristan were stuck and the match ended in a tie. The elder knight only laughed.

“You make your family proud, Lord Starling,” the knight said. “And you’re true to your blood!”

Jon bowed his head. The spectators were excitedly gossiping now, and Jon knew Maester Wolkan would be crazy with the amount of ravens people requested to borrow.

“Would you like another match to clear up the tie?” Benjen asked with a large smile on his face.

“No, thank you, Uncle. That’s the answer to a question I am fine with not having answered.”

The three of them only laughed as Ser Loras approached. “Kind sers, Lord Stark, I’ve been sent by the emissaries of the betting pool.”

Ser Barristan rolled his eyes, but he had been to enough tourneys in his lifetime to know that betting was inherent to the human condition. “Who won the great prize?”

“After a short council, they have decided that, since neither party won, the profits should go to the competitors.”

“Minus a bonus for each ‘councillor’, I’m sure,” the Kingsguard said, eyeing the leather bag with displeasure as Sam joined them.

“I have a better idea,” Jon said, taking the bag Loras was offering and throwing it at Sam, who clumsily caught it. “Lord Tarly, if you’d be kind enough to send word to the village, tell the smallfolk their feast tonight is on me. Make sure the tavern gives them the good ale.”

Ser Barristan smiled, nostalgia taking over, and bit back the comment itching at the back of his throat. He reached for his bag as well, passing it to Sam.

“Now if you’d excuse me, I must—” Jon started.

“Lord Starling, since we’ve won together,” Ser Barristan said still with a smile, “I think we should both crown our Queens of Love and Beauty.”

Jon smiled and nodded, and the five men left the sparring area back to where the Starks and Starlings were. Ayla — being Ayla — had had already made a small wreath of winter roses, which Jon took with a smile and placed on Lyanna’s head, making her giggle from Ned’s arms. Ser Barristan kindly accepted a fire flower Ser Loras procured and turned to Arya.

“My good friend Syrio Forel had interesting tales to tell me about you, my lady. Think of this as a request to spar some time in the future.”

Arya took the flower with a smile. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. I’ll be honoured to.”

“It will be my honour to spar with a fierce she-wolf of Winterfell,” he said with a small bow of his head. “Lord Bran, your father tells me you’ve wanted to meet for some time.” Bran was so excited his voice vanished so he could only nod. “It is an honour, my lord, to have such an admirer.”

With a last smile and a nod towards the giggling Lyanna, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard left. The baby clapped her hands again, as if commanding the attention of her family to turn back to her now that she was amidst so many people at once.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys smiled as Ser Barristan joined her on the battlements overseeing the volcano and the Narrow Sea. “Thank you for joining me, Ser Barristan.”

“Your wish is my command, my Princess. What a wonderful view this is!”

Dany sighed, looking out to the sea. “Those are dangerous words, Ser.”

“These are dangerous times, Your Grace.”

“Jon won't rise against Robert Baratheon, nor would I ask him. Not while it could put our family at risk.”

“I know that. I would never support a choice that risked any of you. I swore a vow to the throne, Princess, a vow I now begrudgingly uphold, but I know who my rightful ruler is.”

“I hear you have served my family well, Ser Barristan. You have spoken of my mother, but I would hear more, about all of them, if you would tell me.”

“It would be an honour and a pleasure, Your Grace. But I sense you have a specific question in mind.”

“I do, yes,” Dany smiled. “I want to know about Jaime Lannister. I want to know why he shows no remorse for killing my father — and I don’t blame him for it — but yet merely seeing me perturbs him due to my likeness to my mother.”

Ser Barristan took a deep breath, looking out the ledge as a seagull dived to catch a fish on the calm waters. _Oh, but to destroy your view of the world, my Queen… to tell you why Jaime Lannister feels like he failed your mother, to tell you that you, lovely and kind like her, are the product of violence…_

“I wasn’t Lord Commander then,” Ser Barristan finally said, “the honour belonged to Ser Gerold Hightower. Ser Jaime was only a lad then, barely seven-and-ten, the youngest to be named.”

“Why did my father do it?”

“To have a hostage against Lord Tywin. I told you, the King saw enemies everywhere. He wanted an advantage over Tywin, and better yet that it would take his heir from him.”

“Tywin Lannister laughed last on that one.”

“He did indeed, Your Grace. Jaime Lannister was alone in the Throne Room with King Aerys and his new Hand, the pyromancer, when Tywin’s men arrived at the gates. Whatever plan the King ordered executed is what drove Jaime to slay him. Lord Stark is the one who found him afterwards, sitting in the Iron Throne over the King’s body, and they say the lad was speaking nonsense. All this I know from rumours, as Jaime was the only one left in King's Landing.”

“Rhaegar took the other six to the Trident?” Daenerys asked with a frown.

“No, no. Rhaegar took three of us with him, myself included. The other three were at the Tower of Joy.”

“Guarding the Lady Lyanna? Why? Why would she—” Dany stopped. “Why would the Prince of Dragonstone leave three of the best warriors in the kingdom to guard a woman no one even knew where she was while half the realm rose in rebellion against the throne?”

Ser Barristan kept his eyes on the sea before them. “Your brother must have had his reasons.”

“Lord Stark told me she was not raped, so it is a logical conclusion that she wasn’t taken. Everything I ever heard about her, how she was spirited and strong-willed, it makes sense that she _wouldn’t_ have been taken. But I think she would run away if she wanted to. The way the Northerners speak of her… Rhaegar named her Queen of Love and Beauty too and over his own wife. So they…?”

“These are dangerous words, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan said, turning to face her. “And dangerous times to rake through.”

“There is more to the story, isn't there? There has to be. Otherwise it makes no sense!”

“History is always told by the victors, Princess. Robert Baratheon won, and in his eyes Lyanna Stark loved him and would never run from him.”

“That can’t be all. Lyanna’s disappearance—”

“The major reason was the murder of Lord Rickard and Lord Brandon Stark, as well as Lord Elbert, who was the heir to the Vale. King Aerys murdered them cruelly and carelessly, and called for Jon Arryn to deliver Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon as well to swear fealty and face justice. That’s when they rose in rebellion, and not before.”

“But—”

“Your mother was a kind soul, Your Grace,” the knight cut in, regretting the direction he had let the conversation take. “She was the life of that castle. Ser Jaime, like everyone there, he loved her. Maybe what he feels is regret that he couldn’t help her like she helped everyone around her.”

Daenerys saw that there was indeed more to the story but his tone was final enough that she knew she would get no other answer on the subject.

“And Rhaegar? I don’t believe the lies that he was a wicked man.”

Ser Barristan smiled now, openly and nostalgically. “Rhaegar was a kind soul as well. He was no warrior, though when he started to train he was a menace with a sword in his hand, not to mention a very good jouster. No, Rhaegar didn’t like war and combat. Rhaegar never liked killing; he loved singing.”

“Singing?”

“Oh, yes. He loved to sing and play the harp. He would take his harp and go down into the city, and of course I had to go after him. He liked to walk among the people, to sing to them.”

“He sang to the people?” Daenerys asked, similing.

“Yes. Rhaegar would pick a spot on the Hook, on the Street of Sisters, then he’d sing, just like any of the other minstrels.”

“And what did you do?”

“I made sure no one killed him…” he chuckled. “And I collected the money.” He smiled at Daenerys’ shocked expression. “What, he liked to see how much he could make!”

“He was good?”

“Oh, he was very good!”

“And did you do with the money?” Dany asked curiously.

“Well, one time he gave it to the next minstrel down the street; one time he gave it to an orphanage in Flea Bottom; one time…” Ser Barristan chuckled again, “we got horribly drunk.”

Dany smiled. _A real person,_ she thought, _my brother was a real person, and he was kind and abhorred violence. He wasn’t a monster._ At that moment, she stopped hating her family. _The Mad King was only just one man, he was not the whole of House Targaryen. He is not the legacy of my family, just one bad seed. I am not him. I will not let him be what our House is remembered for._

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon, who was holding Lyanna, Ned, Ella, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Robb, Margaery, Benjen, and Ayla had left the training yard and gone into the garden. They were now sitting by the fountain and Lyanna was lying on a blanket on the cobblestones, showing off by turning over on her back and belly. Ayla had had a picnic served and they were relaxing when Ghost, Grey Wind, and Summer suddenly stopped their horsing around and stood to attention. The white wolf looked at Rellos and Orys and, seeming satisfied that the humans were safe enough, all three wolves ran out of the garden in a blur of movement.

Lord Manderly came to the garden several moments later, looking very serious. “My lords, my ladies,” he said after the guards had allowed him passage to join the family. “Lord Stark, Lord Starling, my men took the initiative to send over some… some visitors that came to White Harbour. The boat just docked at the pier and a boy was sent to warn me as the cart made its way up the village.”

Upset that the attention had been taken from her, Lyanna rolled to Sansa and started to climb on top of her aunt’s legs. The girl smiled and picked up her niece but cried out when the baby laid her weight on her shoulder. Ella came to pick up Lyanna, frowning, and Lord Manderly looked sharply at Sansa, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“I don’t know what happened, Lord Stark,” the Lord of White Harbour said, “but I think you should come with us. I think we should keep this quiet.”

Ayla and Margaery stayed behind with Lyanna and a moody Bran. Jon, Ned, Ella, Benjen, Robb, Sansa, and Arya joined Lord Manderly going back inside the castle. Sam joined them in the Entrance Hall.

“I directed the cart to a storage barn, so no one would go snooping,” he said.

“What is so grave?” Ned demanded.

“It’s better if you see it, my lord,” Lord Manderly insisted and they all followed Sam’s lead. The door to the barn was closed and it opened groaning and creaking. There were a handful of guards inside, both Starling and Manderly men, but they were staying well clear of the pack of direwolves surrounding the cart in the middle of the room.

Arya gasped. Next to Ghost stood Nymeria, a lot worse for wear, her fur matted and tangled and stained dark red with dry blood. She looked at Arya with cautious eyes, as if afraid of being on the receiving end of rocks again. But Arya had been heartbroken to do it the first time, she would never do it again. She only let tears fall down her face as she ran to her companion, throwing her arms around her furry neck.

Sansa pushed Robb out of her way and stepped up to the cart, feeling months of loneliness and misery drain out of her body. Lying on the middle, where Grey Wind was fussing over her, Lady raised her head, her tail wagging though she did no other move. Protruding from her left shoulder, there was still an arrow lodged. Sansa took her hand to her own shoulder, where the pain of the wound echoed.

Ella looked at it unbelieving for a moment, before she turned to Ned and whispered under her breath. “And you said you don’t believe in magic.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I apologise for the delay, but life got in the way. I'll try to be as close to the schedule as possible, but from now on expect only one chapter per week. 
> 
> Second, I'm once again lacking a beta so forgive any mistakes, as I didn't edit it as much in the rush to upload :)
> 
> Third, to all the curious readers, you can thank the amazing toaquiprashippar for helping me decide that yes, Arthur will be present in his sister's wedding. More than that is spoilers :P
> 
> Comments and kudos do work as bribe fuel for the whole writing thing. Just sayin'.


	31. 30 Bear Witness to My Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maester Wolkan tends to Lady while Ned confesses what happened at the Crossroads. The Stark siblings go on a ride around the island and a vow is made before the Old Gods. Cersei tries to meddle, to Robert's fury.

**Chapter 30**

**Bear Witness to My Vow**

 

The guards had helped to carefully move Lady to a large table nearby so by the time Maester Wolkan arrived, he had room to work. The stableman and the kennel master had been called for assistance as well and it took a collective effort with the guards and Sansa’s soothing to hold the direwolf down to remove the arrow.

Benjen had gone to the kitchens and gotten as much food as he could carry. Sansa took a broiled rabbit and cut up in pieces, feeding it to Lady slowly as the maester worked. Nymeria took a whole cooked hare and laid down, devouring it in mere moments before reaching for another. Whatever had happened in the past six moons, the journey back to the Blessed Island had been rough on the direwolves.

“But I thought the King had ordered Lady to be put down!” Arya said from her place next to Nymeria.

Sansa had been too happy to ask any questions, hugging Ned to the point he had had trouble breathing. He blushed, looking away from them. “Cersei called for her pelt, but Robert left the room telling me to ‘do what needed to be done’. He never said he wanted Lady dead.”

Ella chuckled as she sat next to Arya with a few rags and a bowl of water — now that Nymeria had eaten her fill, she reluctantly allowed them to fuss over her dirty fur. Ella knew Arya could simply take the direwolf out to the river, but she wanted to check if the caked blood came from Lady’s wound or if Nymeria herself had been harmed.

“But how did they find their way back?” Robb asked. “If they got lost at the Crossroads, that’s a long way to come.”

“They’re not beasts, Robb,” Ned said. “They remembered the way back. Besides, I sent men to bring Lady back to Winterfell and I told them to keep an eye out for Nymeria. I haven’t heard from them, now that I come to think of it. I wonder what happened.”

“Maester,” Ella called, “can you tell how long ago the injury happened?”

“I would say about a fortnight — the flesh had already begun to grow over the arrow. Which, I believe, matches the timeline of Lady Sansa’s pains.”

Ella nodded in agreement.

“How could she survive that?” Sansa asked, now tilting a bowl of water that Lady drank gratefully.

“Normal wolves are resilient animals, my lady,” the maester replied as he fussed over the wound. “I can only imagine how much stronger direwolves are. Besides, the arrow didn’t pierce any major blood vessels, so once the bleeding stopped, it was only a major inconvenience.”

“It’s been six moons since the incident at the road,” Ned said. “Why did it take them this long?”

“They might know the general direction, Ned,” Ella said, “but I doubt they know the path of the road or even worry about schedules. Besides, until they got to White Harbour, no one was guiding them.”

“Will she be alright, Maester?” Sansa asked, uncaring about anything else.

“She should be. If she rests and doesn’t put stress on the shoulder she should heal perfectly. I’ll come every day to check on her.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Ned said as the man picked up his things and left. “And I would like to commend your men, Lord Manderly. For sending them over.”

“Not for this, Lord Stark,” Wyman said. “Direwolves are easy to spot and the whole North knows that they belong to the Starks.”

“Does the King know?” Benjen asked.

“I didn’t tell him what I did, merely sent word that I had fulfilled his order and done what I had found necessary.”

“Perhaps it would be best to inform him personally,” Benjen said.

Ned sighed. “You’re probably right. We should keep it as quiet as possible.”

“Does this mean that they can’t come with us?” Sansa asked.

“Nymeria is not coming!” Arya exclaimed. “I want her nowhere around the Lannisters, they’ll just find a way to hurt her! I’d rather she stays here and safe.”

Sansa nodded, conceding the point however begrudgingly. Ella, satisfied that Nymeria wasn’t hurt, took the bowl and rags and went to Lady, cleaning the area the Maester hadn’t, knowing there would be no river baths in her immediate future.

“So, what is to be done?” Jon asked.

“Let’s keep this as quiet as we can,” Ned decided. “We don’t need to hide them, but we shouldn’t flaunt them either. Keep them inside or out of view until everybody leaves the island.”

“Lady can stay in my room,” Sansa said. “She needs to recover anyway.”

“Nymeria won’t be locked up,” Arya stated.

“Well, but she’s like you, she doesn’t like people,” Sansa added.

“Girls, girls!” Ella called, preventing the fight from even starting, seeing as Arya got furious. She looked at Sansa with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry, Arya, I didn’t mean to offend you,” the redhead said, annoyed.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Arya muttered under her breath, then sighed when she saw Ella’s expression. “You are forgiven.”

Robb bit back a chuckle. “Septa Mordane could take a few lessons from Ella,” he whispered to Jon, making sure the rest of the family didn’t hear.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robb smiled as Margaery came into the garden. She joined him with a soft smile as well.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I thought I should make up for the disbanding of our earlier picnic.”

“You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

He offered his arm and she took it so they could walk around the gardens. Robb led them to the southern side that would open to a large terrace overseeing the Narrow Sea.

“Have my siblings made you regret our match yet, my lady?”

Margaery chuckled. “On the contrary, my lord, it only gladdens me. I come from a big family, you see, so it warms my heart to see how much you and your siblings are united.”

“I hear you and your brothers are also very close.”

“We are family. If you can’t love your family, then who can you love?”

Robb smiled. “Very well put, my lady.”

They arrived at the terrace and the trees opened to the vista. Margaery gasped. “It’s beautiful! It seems infinite!”

The sky was tinted with the pink and orange hues of sunset and Robb smiled at how the dimming light caught in her hair, which was flowing softly with the wind.

“We are going riding the day after tomorrow — only the siblings,” he said, almost fumbling with the words. “Would you concede me the honour of joining us?”

She smiled, turning around to Robb. “It will be a pleasure, my lord.”

“Good,” he smiled, though anxiety was bubbling up in his stomach. He really did get it, this was world apart from sweet talking one of Winter Town’s girls for a little fun or even one of the noble daughters for a dance. “I… I got you something. I hope… you don’t have to wear it, I just…” Robb blushed. _Gods, Theon would laugh infinitely at me!_ “It’s a token, my lady, or a prayer that you won’t forget me ‘till we have a chance to meet again.”

“I doubt I could forget you, my lord, even if we were not betrothed,” Margaery said, accepting the offered box with a sweet smile. She gasped when she opened it and her smile grew. The silver direwolf glinted in the sunlight along with the sunstone standing in for an eye.

“It reminded me of your eyes, my lady,” Robb said, blushing a bit.

“It’s marvellous!” she took the necklace from its velvet bedding and held it out. “Would you?”

Robb smiled and took the jewel, waiting as Margaery turned and lifted her long, thick, wavy brown hair out of the way so he could clasp it around her neck. When the sun had vanished beneath the horizon and the guards had taken torches to escort them back to the castle, Robb was stuck thinking that her smile would haunt him for a long time to come.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys walked into her bedchambers that night and immediately smiled. In the short time since she’d fed Lyanna and went to deal with a household issue, Jon had come and put their daughter to sleep. And himself as well. He was lying back on the chaise longue, fast asleep, and Lyanna was cuddled on his chest, her tiny fists clutching his tunic.

Mary, the girl’s nurse, knocked softly on the door and smiled after being granted entrance. “Should I come back later, my lady?”

“No, no,” Dany whispered. “He’ll wake up cursing this chair if he sleeps all night like this. I’ll get her.”

As carefully as she could, she tried to wrench Jon’s tunic free of Lyanna’s hands, but the girl didn’t seem keen on allowing it even in her sleep. The jostling, however, made Jon strengthen his arms around his daughter and stir. He blinked owlishly until Dany’s face came into focus.

“Wha’?” he asked, voice gruff from sleep.

“Bed time, love. Come on, let me get her to her cradle.”

“Nah, she’s fine ‘ere.”

Dany chuckled. “Come on, Jon, you’ll be complaining about back aches if you sleep here.”

He blinked a bit more, unable to stifle a huge yawn. “You’re righ’.”

Instead of surrendering Lyanna, though, he simply adjusted his grip on her and stood up, crossing the room to their bed, which had already been turned down. He set the baby in the middle and got into his side, pulling the furs up around them, putting an arm protectively around Lyanna, and falling asleep again before Dany even had time to react.

Mary only smiled. “I’ll be in the nursery, my lady. Send for me or bring her over whenever you want.”

“Good night, Mary,” Dany said, still amused.

After Doreah and Irri had helped her out of her dress and into her nightclothes, Daenerys joined her husband and daughter, warmed by their presence much more than the furs.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Loud laughter and thumping hooves permeated the morning air, along with the occasional direwolf bark. They were about two-hours southeast of the castle, since Arya had insisted on going as close as she could to the volcano. Ella had shut down the girl’s initial idea to ride all the way there on the very first day, and much more strongly once Benjen had said it was roughly a five-day journey.

Robb called for them to stop and have their picnic — although he wasn’t complaining, Bran was visibly uncomfortable and it was better for him to rest before they rode back to the Midnight Fortress.

Sansa had surprised her brothers by coming down to the courtyard wearing riding breeches and a leather jerkin underneath a light cloak — with the time to sow the fields quickly approaching, the thicker northern furs were unnecessary, but the wind was still chilly enough to cut, especially while riding at speed. Robb had also been pleasantly surprised to see Margaery dressed to ride instead of wearing a silly southern dress. He had blushed furiously when he saw she had the direwolf necklace on.

Jon let Winterstorm graze the grass and went to Dany as she dismounted. “We should do this more,” he said, admiring the way a few strands of silver hair had gotten loose of her usually tight braid. “It’s been forever since we last came riding.”

She smiled, exhilarated with the adrenalin their gallop had brought on. “We’ve been too busy with the wedding and the tourney. But I agree, we should make more time for this.”

“How long until we can bring Lyanna, you reckon?” he asked.

Dany threw her head back in laughter. “As eager as I am, what about we wait at least until she can walk on her own?”

Jon nodded. “Aye, sounds sensible.”

Orys found a fallen tree trunk and with the help of two other guards brought it over so Bran had somewhere to lean against. Irri started to lay down the food as the siblings, Daenerys, Margaery, Ghost, Grey Wind, Nymeria, and Summer settled down and relaxed from the ride.

It was a meal filled with laughter and the bittersweet aura of goodbye. Some guests had already started to leave the day before and Ned, Ella, Sansa, and Arya were leaving the next day. Robb would return to Winterfell with Bran and Jojen Reed the day after, so the family was once again going to part ways.

Arya convinced Irri to give her a lesson on the Dothraki way to ride, so the girls were back on their horses nearby. Robb had provoked Jon and now they were sparring lightly to Bran’s amusement. The direwolves had devised their own game and were running around as well, Nymeria seamlessly integrated as if she had never left at all and they had been playing together ever since Winterfell. Orys finally interrupted the joy once the sun started to descend to the middle of the sky. Arya and Bran had been the most vocal against it.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” the guard said, amused, “but it’s two hours at least back to the castle and Lord Stark will have my head if I let our return be after dark.”

Robb and Jon rounded everyone. “And we have a feast expecting us,” the oldest said. “It would be bad form of Jon and Dany to be absent.”

They rode into the village by sunset and reached the courtyard with the last of light. Jon hoisted Bran from his horse and onto the wheel chair, though the boy was dangerously close to falling asleep.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned stopped by the top of the stairs, frowning at the man who was watching his children arrive at the courtyard bellow. “Is there something you need, Ser Jaime?”

The Kingsguard was startled and turned around. For a moment, Ned thought he saw guilt and regret in the man’s eyes, intensified when he caught sight of Lyanna in her grandfather’s arms. But the blond was quick in letting his mask of flippancy take over.

“Nothing I could ever need could come from you, Lord Stark,” Jaime sneered in his usual arrogant tone. And with that he disappeared behind the red entrance door.

Lyanna squealed, reaching out with her little hand in the direction of her parents, so Ned let it go and descended the stairs. Jon took his daughter and threw her in the air, prompting delighted giggles from the girl and a censoring glare from his wife.

Watching the scene in front of him, most of his children together and having spent a leisure day together, Ned almost regretted having to go back to King's Landing — if he had never accepted Robert’s offer, they would all still be in Winterfell, a whole family. But then he wouldn’t have Ella, and that wasn’t a reasonable trade, as the family wouldn’t be whole anyway.

Ella found him about an hour later, sitting on the fallen tree trunk in front of the heart tree in the godswood. “The feast is about to start.”

He sighed. “I know. Sorry. I just... the godswood of the Red Keep feels stifling. I miss the peace of Winterfell. The trees there are old. Like these. And the gods don’t feel forsaken.”

“I’m sorry we can’t go to Winterfell. I know you wanted to.”

“It would have meant at least another moon. I can’t be away for that long.”

Ella knew nothing would take his melancholy away. “Was this part of the original castle? I wouldn’t have thought the old Valyrians worshipers of the Old Gods.”

“No, they weren’t. But they didn’t take down the trees, at least. We grew the original walls of the castle to accommodate this area.”

“Ned, what is it? I can see you are in a mood. Let me help.”

He sighed again. “I married Catelyn in a sept. In seventeen years, I never took her to a heart tree and repeated our vows for my gods. I wonder... I wonder if that is not why my marriage was cursed.”

Unsure of the best way to answer, Ella took a moment of pause. “I think the problems of your marriage to Catelyn had too many sources for it to be only that.”

“When we marry in that sept, you won’t even be able to use your own name. Your own maiden cloak. I’m scared that our union will be cursed with the web of lies we will weave into it.”

Before Ella could respond, Benjen broke into their bubble. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t... everyone is looking for you, Ned.”

“We’re coming,” he said standing up.

Ella took the hand he offered her, but held his arm. “They can wait a few more moments. Benjen, would you do something?”

Ned widened his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“You know what I’m thinking.”

“There are no witnesses!”

“The gods are the only witnesses we need. And before you talk about the children, I fully intend to use my name and it’s in front of all of them or none of them. So unless you plan on telling Bran and the girls…”

Ned smiled. “You’re mad!”

“You’ve never complained before,” she shrugged.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Benjen, would you be a dear?”

Chuckling, Benjen stood in front of the heart tree. “Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?”

“Lady Ashara of House Dayne,” she said, opening a big smile, “comes here to be wed.”

“And who comes to claim her?”

“Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King,” he said, smiling brightly and widely.

“Lady Ashara, do you take this man?”

“Absolutely yes.”

“Then in front of the gods I — finally! — declare you man and wife!” Benjen said happily.

Chuckling, she took Ned’s hands and they knelt before his gods to ask for their blessings.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The voyage back to the capital was as uneventful as the way over had been. Considering what had greeted him the last time he had ridden into the courtyard of the Tower of the Hand, Ned shouldn’t have been surprised that a steward was there waiting for him with news that the King requested his presence at his earliest convenience.

Sighing, he changed out of his travelling clothes and freshened up, leaving Ella to settle their arrival. He was startled to find Cersei in Robert’s chambers, and more so that they didn’t seem to have been angrily arguing.

“Ned!” the King exclaimed. “There you are! Gods, you were gone long enough!”

“Forty days, Your Grace. I hope there was no matter that was hindered by my absence.”

“Several matters, I would say,” Cersei sneered. “The place of the Hand is next to the King, Lord Stark. I'm sure you know that.”

“Oh, shut up, woman,” Robert said. “You can hardly fault the man for attending his brother’s wedding. Besides, he had to meet his granddaughter.”

“I'm sure Lord Benjen would understand and Lord Starling would bring the girl here.”

“I said shut up! It’s done, stop complaining.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes in anger. “It’s been quite the gossip in Court, all the ravens coming from the Blessed Island these past few weeks. Did you know, my King, that your beloved Lord Hand is going to marry a commoner?”

Ned wanted to roll his eyes. _What a petty, insufferable woman. I can't really fault Robert for not liking her._

“I knew, yes,” Robert said. “What of it?”

Cersei was thrown, clearly having expected to cause discord between the friends. “What of— Robert are you mad?!”

“Careful now, Cersei,” the King cautioned in a grave tone.

“The Hand of the King, the Lord of Winterfell is once again a bachelor and instead of using it to your advantage—”

“All due respect, Your Grace,” Ned cut in coldly. “But as you said, I'm Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North before I'm Hand of the King. If anyone is choosing my bride, it’s me.”

Cersei snorted. “And you choose a lowly commoner. With the Seven Kingdoms at your disposal, you go for a nobody.”

“I hardly think my marriage choices are any concern of the Queen’s.”

“Well put, my friend!” Robert exclaimed. “Stop meddling, Cersei. If Lord Stark wants alliances, it’s his own business.”

“Perhaps Lord Stark was too busy forging alliances for his sons.”

“As well he should,” Robert said. “Stop meddling, woman, I’m warning you!”

“Like betrothing his eldest son, his heir, to Margaery Tyrell,” Cersei declared with a glint of venom in her eyes.

“What?” Robert was taken aback. “Robb and a Tyrell? Whatever for?”

“I think I hardly need to remind you, my royal husband,” Cersei continued, and Ned could almost see the poison dripping down her chin as she spoke. “That the Tyrells were staunch supporters of the Targaryens. Why would a friend of yours ever get meddled with them? And then, of course, this same man has a Targaryen good-daughter.”

Ned felt his temper flare. “Enough, you blasted, cursed woman!” Robert bellowed, his face crimson with anger. “How dare you make this kind of accusations so lightly like this!”

“You’re awfully quiet, Lord Stark,” Cersei continued on, unabashed. “Are you trying to come up with an excuse?”

“Hardly, my Queen,” Ned said, keeping the façade of tranquillity, though his blood was pumping quickly. “I would only need an excuse if I were guilty of your senseless accusation, and I am not. I think _I_ hardly need to remind _you_ that when winters come, the North suffers severely from the scarcity of food. An alliance with the Reach will certainly soften that blow.”

“Is that why you are building a fleet, naming your Lord Admirals? ‘To soften the blow’ of winter? Why you’re starting construction on abandoned keeps? On Moat Cailin of all places?”

“Are you questioning my integrity?” Ned asked furiously, his temper showing.

“You raised a Targaryen and married her off to your bastard,” Cersei sneered. “Who knows what else you feel for the crownless dragon?”

“I did so on my King’s orders, Your Grace. Again I ask, are you questioning my loyalty to my King?”

“I'm questioning your actions, my lord. They are indicative of treason. Like you were planning to close the North as you rose in rebellion in support of—”

“Enough!” Robert yelled, punching the table. “Enough of this nonsense! Others take you, Cersei! You and your damned words! Be gone, and take your contempt and your poison with you!”

She smiled, a dangerous, lecherous smile that made a shiver go down Ned’s spine. After she was gone and the door closed, Robert drained his glass. “I don’t think, for even a moment, that you’re planning on rising on rebellion.”

“Good,” Ned said drily. “Because that would be an insult I would not take.”

“I know that, old friend.” Robert snorted. “Devilish woman. Sprouting poison like a snake,” he took another sip of wine. “She does raise a point though, why are you closing the North?”

“I'm not closing the North, Robert, at least not like that. Jon lives on an island and he’s just discovered mines, he wants to build up his navy. By creating a Northern Fleet, I’m making it so the warships will be his, but ultimately sworn to Winterfell independently of House Starling. On that note, you might remember your decree to raise House Starling to a major house when they were initially going to be sworn to White Harbour. I couldn’t very well _not_ placate Lord Manderly, so I named him Vice-Admiral. And the ironborn are starting to cause too much trouble on the western shore, so it seemed reasonable to fortify that side as well.”

“And the keeps?”

“I already have four sons, Robert, and gods willing I shall have more. The North is scarcely populated, you saw that, and it only makes things more difficult during the winters. I hope to grow the population so we’ll have more fields being planted and therefore more food.”

“Makes sense. Now, let’s leave the Queen’s pettiness behind us. How was the wedding?”

“Lovely. Benjen is happy as a clam.”

“Poor devil, I hope his wife does make him happy and not miserable. And your granddaughter?”

“A gem. She takes after Jon, so she looks like a Stark.” _And far too much like her grandmother already_ , Ned thought but didn’t say.

Robert laughed. “Now that is good luck for the girl! The less she takes after her mother, the luckier she is!”

Ned wanted to roll his eyes. _Will you ever get over your hatred for Targaryens, my friend?_ he asked himself, thought he already knew the answer.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella walked into her chambers after coordinating the unloading, tired after a fortnight of travel. The hawk on the windowsill made her jump, startled, before she opened a smile. She petted the bird’s head, reaching into the concealed seam of the leather pouch he wore as a chest-plate and pulling out the folded piece of parchment.

“Go hunt, my friend,” she said and the hawk took flight. She then went ahead to light a candle and held the unfolded the parchment above it so the heat could reveal the message.

 

_Beloved Ash,_

_Ned Stark is a bull-headed fool who doesn't deserve you, and if he breaks your heart again I will personally break his face — and neither you, nor Lyanna, nor that tiny crannogman will stop me this time. He’d better make an honest woman out of you soon or I will drag him to the sept by his ears. He dishonoured you once, he won't do it again._

_You turned me into a nostalgic mess with your letter, and I don't like it. I'm a knight, I have no use for frivolities. I curse the whoremonger stag and his wounded ego every day for robbing Rhaegar of, most of all, the chance to be proud of seeing his son grow up to the amazing man I've been hearing he is. Yes, sister, news of him and his achievements have reached me and my far dwellings even before your letter._

_Though we should start writing more — it took me twice as long to decipher this encrypted language than usual. I'm old, sister, and surrounded by mostly illiterate fools. I need to have civil conversations with someone with some brains._

_But tell me when is your marriage taking place? Edric had better be there, even if he won't give you away or acknowledge your bond at all, but someone must represent our House._

_I miss you, sister. Simple like that._

_Ser Arthur Dayne, Kingsguard to the True King of the Seven Kingdoms_

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	32. 31 Grieving Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned has to deal with the things in King's Landing while across town gossip makes a new victim. Tyrion and Cersei talk and, in the North, Daenerys has a strange dream.

**Chapter 31**

**Grieving Matters**

 

Ella came to Ned’s solar once she heard he’d come back from his talk with the King. “Bad news?” she asked once she saw his mood.

“Cersei was there,” Ned answered, “and she accused me of treason!”

“She heard about the navy and the keeps?”

“Aye. Gossip from the other guests. But the gall of her, to accuse me of treason as if she were commenting on the weather! Good thing Robert didn’t even consider it, but she was clearly trying to make intrigue. Telling him I’m marrying ‘a commoner’, that Robb and Margaery are betrothed, that I chose a Tyrell because they were Targaryen sympathisers!”

 _They are Targaryen supporters_, Ella thought, _and they only chose Robb because they know if Daenerys ever makes a play for the throne, she and Jon will be sure Winterfell is on their side_. But she didn’t voice it.

“She knows you’re loyal to Robert and you would never side with her or even compromise your honour. You’re not with her, you’re her enemy, and therefore the only way to deal with you is to eliminate you. So it’s either kill you — which would be messy and might very well incite a war — or undermine you.” He huffed and she bit back a smile, going to sit on the arm of his armchair. “I was thinking about something on the way over and I hope you will agree with me.”

Ned smiled weakly, pulling her down to his lap and passing both arms around her waist. “And what is my lady wife plotting this time?”

“Why, my lord husband, you make me sound like quite the schemer!” she laughed. “Bran said he wanted to stay in Winterfell instead of facing the long journey here.”

Ned huffed again, annoyed. “Yes, he did. ‘I must be the Stark in Winterfell from now on, Father’, he said, insisting his dreams told him as much.”

“Well, I won’t argue with green dreams. Ah, ah, ah, after Lady you are not going to argue with it either, are you?”

Ned pursed his lips. “No, I won't. What does it have to do with anything?”

“Well, I was thinking that Rickon could come to the wedding, rather.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Robb. Rickon will be thrilled, I imagine. I doubt he was happy being left behind.”

“This is what I wanted to talk about,” Ella said and Ned frowned. “You said you left Rickon in Winterfell because he was too little.”

“Well, he was four at the time.”

“Yes. But he’ll be nearly six at the wedding and I’m not diminishing Lady Wynafryd, but…”

Ned chuckled. “You want him here under your wings.”

“Don’t you want your son here?”

“You know I do, silly. Not diminishing Lady Wynafryd, but I’d rather have him under our eyes.”

“Good,” Ella smiled, “now I was…”

A quick knock announced Poole’s entrance, and he was immediately embarrassed. Ella cleared her throat and stood up. “What is it?” Ned asked, uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, my lord. The… the High Septon sent word. He would like Ella to come to the Sept of Baelor as soon as she can manage to get the arrangements of the wedding set.”

“If I must…” Ella sighed. “Thank you, Poole. I’ll send a message I'm coming over tomorrow.”

The man bowed his head and turned to leave, but Jory had come into the room as well and as such he blocked the way. “Since you two are here,” Ned called. “You have both served my House and my family faithfully for years, so I know I can trust you with this secret. The King is organising a grand ceremony for my wedding, as I am sure you are aware. However, that is a southern ceremony. To avoid upsetting His Grace, and the date he has decided upon, we are keeping it private, but we have married in the godswood of the Midnight Fortress before we left. So please, accord all due respect to the new Lady of Winterfell.”

“Well, my congratulations, my lord, my lady,” said Jory.

Poole blushed slightly, but also congratulated them and the two of them quickly left. Ned stood up, holding his hand out to Ella, when once again there was a knock. She bit back a smile at his murderous glare, then rolled her eyes. “That’s the service door. It must be—”

“Only a spider, Lady Stark,” Varys said, coming into the room.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn smiled when she saw Petyr. The septas were always furious when he visited, some even complained about the special treatment for the little lady, but the High Septon had given an order and none of them would dare question it. He extended a single daisy, as he did every time he visited, knowing they were her favourite.

“How are you, Cat?” Littlefinger asked.

“Same as you asked me a few days ago. Why are you back so soon? Has something—”

“Your children are fine,” Petyr was quick to reassure and she exhaled in relief. “They have just returned from their trip to the Blessed Island, though, and their ship brought much gossip.”

“I can only imagine. You said half the realm was invited.”

“And the other half didn’t have deep enough pockets.”

“Tell me. Please, Petyr.”

“What will certainly make you the happiest is what I discovered of your precious Bran. He will walk again, Cat.”

“Oh, gods!” Catelyn exclaimed. “Oh, seven blessings, I prayed so much! I must light another candle to the Mother!”

“A miracle indeed, my lady. I can only imagine your happiness.”

“What… what else do you know? How is Robb?”

“Well, I imagine,” Littlefinger smiled. He had organised his gossip carefully for greatest impact and Catelyn was following the song perfectly. “He competed in the tourney, but was bested by Prince Oberyn Martell in the quarterfinals. Oh, this will interest you: Robb is betrothed. To Margaery Tyrell.”

“Tyrell? Why ever would Ned make an alliance with the Reach?”

“Food for the coming winter, I suppose, whenever that might be. I imagine the Tyrells were quite eager to please the Starks after the service rendered by Lord Starling.”

Catelyn pursed her lips, remembering the story of the Tourney of the Hand. “What news from _them_?” she asked with contempt.

“All accounts say that the tourney was very entertaining — Lord Starling won and crowned his wife the Queen of Love and Beauty. The jewellery show also seems to have been a success as there’s a handful of winter diamonds parading around the city. But the real gem seems to be the Lady Lyanna, who apparently charmed all the present.”

“She… she is what, three, four moons old? What were they doing, parading her in public?”

“I gathered she went to cheer her father as he sparred with Ser Barristan Selmy.”

“Fools, with no proper idea how to raise a child,” Catelyn muttered. “I wish to hear no more of it. What about the girls? And Rickon?”

“Once again Rickon was the Stark in Winterfell, so I know nothing. The girls are also fine, I saw them from the window as they rode up Aegon’s Hill.”

“What else, Petyr? I can see there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Littlefinger made a show of being uncomfortable. “I wish… I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but you will find out soon enough.”

“Tell me!”

“Lord Stark is marrying again,” he ‘confessed’, eager to see her reaction. “He is marrying the governess.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“You did what?!” Tyrion asked after spitting his wine. _Gods, you’ve gone madder than I could possibly have anticipated, sister!_

But Cersei wasn’t vexed. “I told him…”

“I heard you the first time, there’s no need to repeat your insanity out loud.”

And now she got angry. “He is—”

“Oh, seven hells, Cersei!” Tyrion exclaimed, setting his goblet on the table with a clunk. “The day Ned Stark is less than honourable, the day he really plots treason again Robert, that’s when the world has gone to shit. Are you utterly, utterly mad? To make an accusation like this, and in front of Robert?”

She shrugged. “Better in front of Robert than having the honourable northern fool come tell him later his own version of the story.”

“Well, you are not entirely stupid, then, thank the gods.”

“Please, Tyrion, what do _you_ know of diplomacy?”

“A great deal more than you, apparently,” he replied angrily. “Please tell me you do realise the precarious position we are in. You making matters worse with Eddard Stark will only makes things worse for us.”

“I know Ned Stark’s presence is troublesome, but I don’t see how it’s precarious.”

Tyrion let his chin fall open for a brief moment — _she can’t be so naïve, can she?_ he thought. “My dear sister, you just told me you’re aware that Ned Stark’s position as Robert’s Hand is troublesome because he won’t be swayed, convinced, or bribed to our side. He will stand by Robert, come winter or summer. And dear Joffrey made the Starks our great enemies with the insane plot you concocted.”

“If you thought it so ridiculous, why didn’t you say something at the time? Instead of using that tone now.”

“Oh, you mean when you finally told me why Joffrey hadn’t joined us at the feast yet? We were already running out of the Great Hall by then, don’t you remember? Drawn by Daenerys Targaryen’s screams.”

“Starling. Targaryens are dead.”

Tyrion snorted, but thought the argument not worth the time. “The point now, Cersei, is that the Starks are our enemies and with that we lose the Vale and the Riverlands—”

“Hoster Tully will certainly be offended with what’s happening to his eldest daughter.”

“Hoster Tully travelled all the way to the capital and talked personally to Ned Stark and only then was Catelyn sent over to the Sept. And it’s irrelevant anyway — Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell, is Tully’s grandson so he is honour- and duty-bound to be on their side. The same goes for Lysa Arryn, and she wouldn’t side with us anyway, not when she took her son and flew the capital in fear of letting Sweetrobin foster at the Rock.”

“We still—”

“Also, Robb Stark is betrothed to Margaery Tyrell. Please tell me you are following the logic here.”

“I need to make Robert send Ned Stark packing, back to his frozen homeland!” Cersei exclaimed, furious and frustrated.

“Good luck with that, sister, you will certainly need it. But all you’ve done so far, since Winterfell, is make Robert angrier with you and more pleased with his friend.”

“I’m his wife and queen.”

Tyrion threw her a disbelieving glare. “First, Robert can’t stand you — and we all know the feeling is mutual. Second, you just complained, loudly and at length, about how Robert cut off your expenses and is in turn planning to host a lavish wedding to Ned Stark. I’m sure you know that Catelyn Tully is alive and well, locked up in the Sept — we did just mention it.”

“Robert wouldn’t dare. Father would—”

“You have to stop relying so heavily on Father. He would defend our House, but even he knows what limits not to cross.”

“He would never let Robert set me aside.”

“If you start causing too much trouble he will have no choice, Cersei. Think, if you are caught doing something considered a slight against the King or even his Hand, do you really think Father can save you?”

“Father is Warden of the West.”

“There are Seven Kingdoms, Cersei. Father only controls one and the Starks already have the other four. I think that math is easy enough.”

She exclaimed in anger and stomped out of the room. Tyrion sighed, reaching for his goblet and refilling it.

“Brat,” he muttered. “Father told you you’re entitled the world and you dearly believe it.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Dany ran along the trees, confused. All she could see around her were trees, the lush green northern forest and its old trees. She heard noise, shuffling ahead, so she ran, trying to find someone. She knew there was someone, she knew they wanted to tell her something. Then suddenly there was a break on the row of trees. They opened to a clearing, at the centre of which stood a large white weirwood heart tree. Like all heart tress, it had a face carved into it. The wood around Daenerys started to laugh, echoing the face — a laughing tree._

_She heard shuffling again and turned around. There was a man standing there, a man she recognised from another dream. Long silver-gold hair, deep indigo eyes, and a kind smile. He was smiling too, and carried a harp on his hand._

_“Rhaegar?” Dany called, but before he could answer, there was a sharp noise, and the dream world dissolved around her._

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys sat up in a jump, startled. She saw the bed next to her empty so she looked around the room. Jon was standing next to the fruit basket on the table, looking sheepish.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, you… what happened? You don’t usually wake up in the middle of the night.”

He chuckled. “Ghost, Lady, and Nymeria went hunting. It’s Lady first hunt since they’ve been back, so they’re very excited. They caught a deer, so I woke up hungry.”

She chuckled as well. “I suppose there are downsides to this.”

Jon shrugged, bringing a bunch of grapes back to bed. “What about you? The dream with the black dragon again?”

“Not quite,” she said, pensive. “I was… I was in a forest and the trees were laughing and Rhaegar was there.”

“That is a new one.” Jon frowned. “The trees were laughing? What do you think that means?”

“No idea. There was a weirwood in a clearing and it had a laughing face and that’s when the other trees started to laugh.”

“Perhaps this was just a weird, normal dream. Like from a regular person. Not a Targaryen dragon dream.”

Dany rolled a grape between her fingers. Then she chuckled. “What a pair we make, prophetic dreams and warging.”

“Maybe Lyanna will have both.”

“The poor girl, she’ll never sleep.”

Jon laughed and put the bunch leftovers aside. “Well I happen to know a way to put us both to sleep deeply.”

She joined his laughter. “Oh, do you, Lord Starling? Does that involve a bedtime story?”

His eyes shone with dark promise. “Not one children can hear.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Dear Artie,_

_You are a bull-headed fool as well, but I love you anyway. The useless, spineless fool we now must call king is meddling and has decided our wedding is to take place at the first week of the eighth moon of this year. Before you start sputtering in anger, I care not that I must wait another four moons, because we are already married before the Old Gods of the Forest. Ned wanted our union to be blessed by his gods and though we couldn’t go as far as Winterfell, it felt right to do it in the North. We only had Benjen as a witness, but I could use my name and my House instead of the lie I shall have to say at the sept. So there you have it, he has already ‘made an honest woman out of me’._

_I have managed to tell Edric and he only snickered, saying he will make sure Lord Dondarrion will be in King's Landing for the occasion. Whatever else he is plotting, I have no idea._

_Speaking of Lyanna, Jon’s daughter already shows that she’ll be as spirited and wilful as her grandmother. Gods help us when she grows up and makes us all nostalgic._

_In his studies of magic and prophecies, do you know what, if anything, Rhaegar learned about wargs and green dreams? I know it is something that comes from the Children of the Forest, passing to the First Men through marriage. But the children are experiencing the bond with their direwolves — yes, each Stark child has their own direwolf companion, and they share their eyes at night._

_The ‘tiny crannogman’, Howland Reed, understands a bit about the subject and he sent his son to foster in Winterfell and guide Robb and Bran. His good-sister, also a crannogwoman, is coming to King’s Landing to teach Sansa and Arya and there was already a son of a crannogman in the Blessed Island, so he will teach Jon._

_How is your life, brother? I know you’re upset to be hiding out in a hut, but we all must do our parts. Have you become a hermit and stay locked in threatening any neighbour who stops by to say hello? Are you terrorising the troublesome children who dare disturb your peace? I do agree, by the way, that we must write more. Your handwriting is terrible, please do practice some._

_Ashara Stark, Lady of Winterfell_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was her first time using the Stark seal and Ella felt almost giddy, like the silly girl who had fallen in love with Ned in Harenhall. But eighteen long years and a ton of shit had happened between then and now, and still she could only smile. _Ashara Stark, Lady of Winterfell_. It made the silly butterflies flutter in her stomach.

She put weights on the four corners of the parchment so it wouldn’t roll up as it dried and went to the fireplace, carefully disposing of the mixture that made the ink invisible to the naked eye. Dawn, the hawk, watched her movements with a half-bored look, aware that she was about to travel again. Ella had rolled her eyes at her sister when she’d stopped by Starfall, nearly two years ago now. Big brother had allowed her to name one of the special messenger falcons House Dayne bred unbeknown to the other kingdoms and Houses and Allyria, in her childish wisdom, had decided that since there was currently no active Sword of the Morning she would name the bird Dawn. Ella looked down at the now empty little bowl. _I’ll tell Arthur in the next letter_ , she decided, unwilling to make more ink. _He will have a kick out of it_.

She folded the now dry parchment and carefully slipped it into the leather pouch. Dawn stretched on the windowsill, shaking off her lazy morning, and spread her wings so Ella could put the breastplate in place. But before she could even get to the window, Sansa and Arya came barrelling through the door.

“Are you going to the sept today?” Sansa asked quickly. Ella raised an eyebrow and the girl bushed. “Sorry. We should have knocked.”

“Is that a hawk?” Arya asked unabashed.

“Yes.” Ella chuckled. “Her name is Dawn. Come on, she won't bite you.”

Arya smiled and cautiously came to the window. Dawn looked at her warily, but allowed the approach and even the touch. “She’s beautiful!” the girl exclaimed. “I didn’t know you liked hawking.”

“She came to the window one day and stayed,” Ella answered. _More like Allyria sent a letter and told her to stay with me._

“Can you teach us?” Arya asked. Sansa, more cautious than her sister, approached more slowly, but also touched the soft white plumage.

“Of course,” Ella answered. “She’s about to go hunting, but I’ll get us new hawks, how does that sound?” Both girls liked the idea. “Not today, though. Today _we_ are going to the sept.”

“All three of us?”

Ella nodded. “I'm sure if you behave the High Septon will agree to let you see your mother. Would you like that?” They nodded eagerly. “So come on, let’s get going.”

“We saw Father leaving already. That’s a bit earlier than usual,” Arya said. “And he was very unhappy. What is wrong?”

“Small Council business,” Ella answered. “Nothing for you two to worry about. Now come on.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ser Meryn and Ser Boros were shocked when Ned showed up and demanded an audience with the King. The ever grumpy Ser Meryn tried to block his passage, saying the King hadn’t awoken yet, but Ned wasn’t moved.

“Well, then I suppose he will wake in a very sudden and angry mood,” Ned snapped shortly. “Move aside.” Neither knight moved. “I’ll make it easier for you to understand, sers, I'm the Hand of the King and there is only one man who holds more power than I in this realm. Therefore, if the King has commanded you to bar my passage, by all means stand there. Otherwise, when I say jump, I _kindly_ suggest you ask me how high.”

Both men were startled by the sudden shortness. “What is the meaning of this raucous?” Robert demanded, opening the door in his nightwear. “Ned? What in the seven hells happened that you’re at my door at this ungodly hour?”

“We have royal business to discuss, Your Grace. _Now_.”

Robert frowned, but opened the door and retreated inside the room. Ned shouldered his way past the two Kingsguards, closing the door behind himself.

“You must have grave news,” the King said, going to pour himself wine. “Nothing else would you bring you here at dawn.”

Ned rolled his eyes and bit back a snort. “It’s past mid-morning already, Robert. And there’s no shorter than three urgent matters we must discuss immediately.”

“Is it about the Targaryen boy?”

“That too. Lord Varys received whispers he is moving from Pentos to Volantis.”

“And that’s significant because…?”

“That’s where the Golden Company is.”

“Oh. Well—”

“Lord Varys is, of course, already spreading more of his little birds. The Dothraki were a more distant threat, since they don’t have ships and wouldn’t cross the sea. The Golden Company, however, is another story. That means it is imperative that the Royal Fleet is up to its best capacity.”

Robert nodded. “Where’s Stannis?”

“Holed up in Dragonstone, if you’ll forgive me the bluntness.”

“You sent him the raven?”

“I did. And I got no reply again. I met one of his men, Ser Davos Seaworth, at the Midnight Fortress. He didn’t confirm Lord Stannis was ignoring the message, but that was the idea I got.”

“Very well, the fucking cunt has had his tantrum. He’s been away for over a year. Send him a final notice to come to Court in a week’s time or he’s forfeited the position. Then he can’t say I'm not fair.”

“Good,” Ned said. “I kindly ask, if Lord Stannis does indeed renounce his position, that I'm allowed to fill the seat with a man of my trusting.”

“Granted. It will do those cunts good to have more northern blood here. Perhaps that lord that was supposed to be Jon’s overlord, and tell him the King approves of his nomination.”

“House Manderly will be most pleased. I’ll also make sure that the navy has enough ships. On that note, I would also like to talk to you about the situation of House Arryn.”

“We’ve spoken about it, Ned, let the widow handle the boy and the Vale, Jaime Lannister is the Warden of the East.”

“Well, you’ve made the decision and the announcement so I know no good will come from arguing. But you know as well as I do that the Vale men will _not_ follow Jaime Lannister’s command.”

“They will—” Robert started, but then huffed at Ned’s raised brow. “Fine, I can see that. It was a harsh decision, are you happy that I’ve admitted it?”

“Slightly,” Ned said. “The knights of the Vale will only follow a man from the Vale, as you well know. The Lord of the Vale is a child, and a delicate one at that, so I’d like to suggest that, while Lysa Arryn, as the mother, is allowed to oversee day to day ruling and the politics of the kingdom, we install a Vale man as the commander of the Arryn forces.”

“Fine, fine. I will—”

“Robert, please do not irritate them more than you already have by giving their title to Jaime Lannister. Choose a man whom Jon Arryn would choose.”

“You are in a mood today, my friend.”

Ned glared at him. “I am. We’ll get to that. Right after you think about Lord Yohn Royce.”

“He was Jon Arryn’s right-hand, wasn’t he?” Robert asked and Ned nodded. “Very well, have it done. Leave the widow as regent of the Vale and Royce as the Lord Protector.”

“Good, now that that is settled…” Ned said, feeling his anger rise again.

“I can see we arrived at the point that’s grieving you. What is it?”

“Tywin Lannister has been plotting to pass a new law,” Ned said through clenched teeth.

Robert’s mood soured. “And how does he intend to do that if he is not in my Small Council?”

“Considering what Varys and Renly told me, Lannister intends to lure other lords paramount to his idea and if all else fails he’ll call for the Crown’s debt.”

“That is too stupid a move to come from Tywin Lannister,” Robert said. “The man can be ruthless, fine, but he a cunning cunt. A move like that matches his boldness but not his cunning.”

“That is what I thought as well. So we have two options.”

“Which are?”

Ned exhaled. “Either someone is playing games and laying the blame on Tywin Lannister, which is worrying for a number of reasons.”

“Or?”

“Or he’s too desperate to think clearly.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter!!! A lot of chocolate to everyone :)
> 
> I'd like to credit and thank toaquiprashippar for all her help, encouragement, and for the consultancy in all House Dayne issues (and all things in general :D ). Dawn is named in your honour!


	33. 32 Claws Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned faces Tywin Lannister and his proposal while, across town in the Sept of Baelor, Ella and Catelyn have an honest conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get any hate, please do notice that this fic is correctly tagged PAST Ned/Catelyn and CURRENT Ned/Ashara. Also, there is a tag that says "not for Catelyn fans" and I have, through several chapters, explained how and why Catelyn here is different than in canon.
> 
> That said, enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 32**

**Claws Out**

 

Catelyn watched from the window of her room the litter stop in front of the sept. Her father had made a deal with the High Septon and even though Catelyn hadn’t yet completed the training to be a septa and was still a student, she had one of the septa’s rooms instead of having to contend with the communal dorm room where the other aspirants slept.

The Stark banners waved slightly in the weak morning breeze. Jory dismounted and stopped by the litter, giving his hand to help Arya, Sansa, and then the governess out. Arya said something Catelyn couldn’t hear, obviously, and while her older sister rolled her eyes, the whore laughed, passing an arm around Arya’s shoulder.

Catelyn had had a breakdown the night before, after Petyr had told her the news. She had raved and ranted. Barely a moon after their marriage was dissolved and Ned was already taking another wife. Like she didn’t matter, like the seventeen years and five children she had given him were nothing. And then the terrible realisation came. Ned wasn’t marrying a young and beautiful girl to keep him warm at night, as every man needed. He was marrying an old crone who was certainly too old to give him the children he deserved. Certainly old and common enough to be too well used to be any good for Ned. This was a woman who wouldn’t be able to fulfil her wifely duties. Unless she already had. Unless this little common whore had already given Ned a son he could be proud of. That was the only thing that made sense.

Catelyn had screamed in frustration then. This whore had seduced her husband and given him a son that looked like a Stark, the way none of the sons Catelyn had given Ned to name did. The three trueborn sons Lord Eddard Stark presented to the realm looked like their Tully mother and didn’t have any features from their Stark blood. But the bastard did. The long face, the dark brown hair, the grey eyes… the bastard looked like the truest son of Winterfell, unlike Catelyn’s three sons. And it was all this whore’s fault! She had seduced Ned, born him a son, then abandoned the baby, and forced Catelyn to raise her bastard, forced Catelyn to endure his presence. Now, with the bastard a man grown and even with a princess whore as a wife, this little whore had sneaked in, taken Catelyn’s rightful place raising Ned’s trueborn daughters and the moment Catelyn was thrown aside like soiled clothes, the whore sunk her claw deep again and seduced Ned into marrying her.

What sort of dark spell did this whore conjure? What sort of dark magic did she work? What sort of demon did she worship? Worse yet, what poison was she seeping into Sansa’s and Arya’s heads? Catelyn would have to find a way to warn her daughters. Perhaps convince them to be extra dutiful to the gods, so they would be protected from the whore’s sorcery.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sansa and Arya were amazed with the splendour of the Great Sept. So far they had only gone to the weekly services at the small sept within the Red Keep, as the Sept of Baelor was reserved for grand ceremonies. Ella remembered the last time she had been here: Aegon’s naming ceremony. Considering the way the event had quickly turned embarrassingly awkward and the awful argument between Rhaegar and Elia after the feast in the Red Keep, it wasn’t a memory she cherished.

The High Septon quickly appeared, doing a song and dance and reciting honeyed words. Ella almost regretted that the High Septon who had been in office all those years ago, the man who had been called Maynard before his appointment to office, had passed away. The new Holy Father was nearly insufferable, but at least knew of no secrets to let slip.

“Lady Sansa and Lady Arya would like to visit with their mother. Lord Stark was certain that would be possible,” Ella said, cutting off the man’s prattling.

The young acolyte next to the High Septon closed his face, visibly displeased. “Of course, of course,” the latter said. “My assistant here will send for Sister Catelyn. Now tell me, Lady Ella, do you follow our Faith? Of course, Lord Stark follows the… the _northern_ gods.”

Ella wanted to roll her eyes again. _So there we have the reason for the extra honeyed words, he wants to bring House Stark to the Faith and paying indulgence and all the northern Houses following closely behind_ , she thought. “My mother and father named me into the Faith, Your High Holiness, but the common people don’t do much more than listen at the back of the service.”

The man was slightly vexed. “Well, we try to accommodate all our children.”

“I’m sure,” she said.

“Ella, can we go see the crypts?” Arya asked.

“No!” Sansa cried. “Why would you want that?”

“I want to see the dead dragons!”

“Girls,” Ella called before Sansa retorted. “I thought you wanted to see your mother.”

“But if there’s time later…?” Arya pleaded.

“We will see later.” The assistant came, saying Catelyn would meet them in a room off the main sanctuary. “Jory, if you would be so kind as to escort the girls,” Ella said.

“You are not coming?” Sansa asked.

“Of course she isn’t, stupid,” Arya said.

“Arya, don’t speak like that to your sister,” Ella censored. “No, Sansa, I have business to discuss with the High Septon.”

“The children don’t need a guard while inside the gods’ house, my lady,” the High Septon said as the assistant led them away.

“Jory is only keeping them company while they visit Sister Catelyn.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable having an armed man inside this holy place, my lady.”

“Jory Cassel is Captain of the Household Guard and he follows Lord Stark’s orders. He is here to keep the girls safe, that is all. And he has left his sword with the other guard outside.”

The High Septon cleared his throat. “Very well. Should we talk about the wedding ceremony?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla smiled as she saw Ghost standing guard at the gate to the godswood. “Hey there. Can I talk to him?”

The wolf looked in the direction of the lake and then stepped aside, allowing her to push the gate open and cross. She petted his head and he lolled his tongue out before resuming his guarding position. Jon was standing at the lake, knee-deep in the water, and had a handful of pebbles he was skipping. He chuckled when he saw Ayla coming.

“I guess I’m gonna have to find another hiding spot.”

“We shall be locked in an eternal game then. Though you will forever have the disadvantage of an albino direwolf sentinel and gossiping servants.”

Jon laughed. “So you’re the mistress of whispers in this keep?”

Ayla rolled her eyes and joined his laugh. “Something like that. So, what are you chewing up inside this time?”

“Has Dany told you of her idea for a new project?” Jon asked returning the pebbles to the shore and climbing out of the lake.

“The cooking school? I tried to change her mind, by the way.”

“I think that on paper is a nice idea, but it will never work. And we don’t have the money to spare, not with the mining and the navy.”

“So you can face a beast of a man in single combat without armour, you face the realm’s best knights in the lists, but you can’t face your wife?”

He blushed. “It’s not that!” He huffed at Ayla’s raised brow. “I just… she’s frustrated, and I get why. She wants more than being the beautiful and idle lady of the keep, and I want that for her. But this… people won’t hire foreign cooks, let alone ones from Essos. I just… I’m afraid she’ll take it the wrong way.”

“You can start by telling her that her idea isn't economically viable at the moment and—”

Jon laughed. “You talked to Sam. You’re parroting his words.”

Ayla rolled her eyes. “Fine, we talked. He is worried about the two of you.”

“I know.” Jon exhaled deeply. “I wanted… I don’t know, I wanted to come up with something I could propose in place.”

“Don’t create something to make her feel useful,” Ayla counselled. “She’ll hate that.”

“I know. What, then?”

“What is something that needs doing but you don’t have the time to take care of?”

“Nothing to do with the household,” Jon said, “or Dany will think I don’t consider her capable.”

Ayla nodded her head, agreeing. “What about the village?”

“What about it?”

“People are moving here, so the village, even Sunstone Town is growing a lot, and disorderly. You mentioned the way King's Landing smells, and I was only there when you were a babe, when you and Daenerys were betrothed, but that stink stayed rooted in my mind. You don’t want that in your lands, do you?”

“Most certainly not.”

“So, why don’t you ask Dany to manage the expansion of the village? This way the houses will grow in an orderly fashion and you can avoid bad smells.”

“But how do we—?”

Ayla smiled. “That’s Dany’s project. Let her come up with a way.”

Jon chuckled. “You, my dearest aunt, are a clever woman!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was with anger still burning in his veins that Ned waited for Robert to get dressed and they both went to the Small Council. Their arrival obviously caught everyone by surprise, especially the King’s presence. Ned clenched his jaw when he saw Tywin Lannister.

“Lord Stark!” the Grand Maester exclaimed, breaking the awkward silence that took over the room. “We were unaware you would grace us with your presence.”

“I don’t see how, Grand Maester,” Ned managed to bite out through clenched teeth. “I arrived yesterday and had a meeting with the King and Queen already, so I am more than fully ready to retake my post and my responsibilities. You, however, look out of place, Lord Lannister.”

Tywin was not happy as he stood up, but vacated Ned’s chair anyway. “I came to propose something before the Small Council.”

“Then you should have waited for the _entire_ Small Council to assemble,” Ned retorted, unceremoniously taking his seat.

Ser Barristan adjusted his seat, seeming ready to jump to his feet and unsheathe his sword the moment it seemed necessary; Pycelle was looking from Tywin to Ned to Robert and back again, as if worried that an explosion would burst; Lord Varys had his usual blank expression; Renly seemed almost happy; and Littlefinger was obviously trying to hide his displeased face — it looked like Ned and Robert’s timely arrival had interrupted before the Master of Coin and Tywin could present the proposal. As it was, they would have to go through the King before the Council had the chance to be endeared.

“Do tell us, Lord Lannister, what is this wonderful proposal you have for us?” Ned asked. Robert was still standing at the door, looking furious, and Ned hoped his friend would calm down enough to at least take his seat.

With his lips pursed, Tywin took a scroll from his pocket and tried to give it to Littlefinger, but Ned reached out his hand and the Lord of Casterly Rock knew he had no option but to give into the unspoken request. Ned unrolled the scroll and carefully read over the finely scripted words. Each moment he took only increased the tension in the room. Finally, he was done and let the parchment roll back, setting it on the table.

“Your proposal has merit, Lord Lannister,” he said, shocking the other lords — even Tywin raised an eyebrow.

“How so, Lord Stark?” Littlefinger asked. “If you would be so kind as to share it with us that haven’t had the chance to read it…”

“Lord Lannister proposes an increase in trade taxes, especially when goods are traded across kingdoms. Expensive goods would also get an overtax as they are luxury items. I do agree, it all seems reasonable.”

“You agree?” Tywin asked, almost unbelieving it was so easy.

“Of course!” Ned said, shocking the others even more. “Although only until the paragraph before the last.” And the tension rose again.

“How do you mean, Lord Stark?” Tywin asked tightly.

“Well, for starters, your scribe was obviously running out of space and there was no more parchment available, because his print became so small it’s nearly impossible to read,” Ned said and the hint of sarcasm was clear in his voice. Renly coughed to hide a laugh and Ser Barristan looked down to conceal his smile. Robert relaxed a bit of his stiffness though his ears were still red with anger. Tywin’s eyes glinted with anger. “Then, when one makes the effort to read said paragraph, we see that your intention is not to raise funds for the Treasury, but for the lords paramount’s personal coffers. I don’t see how that is worth the proposal or the time and effort from this Council.”

“The Crown would obviously benefit from the increase in trade. You might have read that while I propose an increase in trade taxes, I also propose a decrease in taxes of the main export of that kingdom.”

“Not a decrease, but rather to keep it unchanged. So while the rest is raised, discouraging that trade which is already weak, the main exports remain the same. Oh, and the expensive luxury items, which can easily be cut from a lord’s expenses, are double-taxed. Please, do explain how that is advantageous, as I’m not as skilled in financial matters as you and Lord Baelish.”

Tywin was growing as red as Robert, who for his part had taken his seat at the table. Renly was having the hardest time concealing his amusement and Ser Barristan was still looking down, though the curved sides of his mouth were visible.

“Growing the lords paramount personal coffers would bring their goodwill towards the Crown so that, in time, when the Crown raises taxes in everything, they won't be as upset,” Tywin said.

“A very logic and sound argument,” Ned agreed. “However, I can't in good conscience allow it.” The room chilliness dropped down to winter frost.

“I believe our King—” Tywin started.

“The Lord Hand has given his decision, Lord Lannister,” Robert said.

“Based on what?” the Old Lion demanded.

“Not that I need to answer that, but I’m in a good mood, so I shall humour you,” Ned said. “The Reach exports food — fruits and vegetables, grain and meat — and would certainly profit very much, especially when winter comes. The North exports wool and timber, so we would also profit immensely.”

“I did just order the maintenance and expansion of the Royal Fleet,” Robert said.

“That means Winterfell’s coffers would burst,” Ned went on, “but I cannot agree to that at the expense of the already precarious Royal Treasury. Now, Lord Baelish, you are a man of the Vale, tell me, does your kingdom export enough wheat and corn outside of winter to justify this deal?”

Littlefinger pursed his lips minutely before speaking. “I'm sure Lady Arryn—”

“No, I didn’t think so,” Ned barrelled through. “The Riverlands don’t have any great export to the other kingdoms, so I daresay Lord Tully won't see much difference, other than the increased tax in all the other products. Dorne, on the other hand, would certainly be very cross. Other than the exotic food and spices — luxury imports if we are all quite honest — the Dornish great export is wine, which would, by your own proposal, be overtaxed as an expensive good. So that would diminish the trade, what Dorne won't thank you for. And I don’t think you need to increase the more than rightful and justified animosity Doran Martell feels towards your House, Lord Lannister.”

The room was drowned in sepulchral silence, but Ned wasn’t finished. “And then we arrive at the Westerlands. Mining, silver and gold and gems. Like Dornish wine, it would suffer an overtax for being expensive goods, therefore it would not work in your favour. Everyone in this room knows of your reputation, Lord Lannister, you would never work against your own interests. It does beg the question, though, of how it would benefit you.”

“Lord Lannister must be clearly intending the tax to be prejudicial to another mining House,” Renly said, not bothering to hide how he was highly entertained.

Ned smiled. “I wonder who that would be,” he said drily. “However, as I have explained, this ‘proposal’ of yours would bring no great benefit to anyone. Well, at least not to most people. This seems to me — and I say this in front of our King, who will correct me if I am either wrong or speaking out of place — but this seems to be a personal vendetta, Lord Lannister. This Council is not made up of puppets that dance to your puppeteer.”

Tywin took a menacing step forward. Ned took his hand to the hilt of his sword, but Ser Barristan stood up. “I think you are out of place, my lord. As the Lord Hand said, this is the Small Council. You’ve presented your proposal, I think its time you leave.”

Tywin took his step back. “You would do well to remember that the Treasury can’t bear to have me as an enemy, Lord Stark.”

“Are you threatening me?” Robert asked in a cold voice.

Tywin seemed to remember he was even there. “Of course not, my King.”

“You threaten the Treasury, you threaten the King, Lannister!” Robert exclaimed, standing up and punching the table. “I don’t know what in the seven hells is wrong in Casterly Rock, but something must have gone very awry if you come here and act like this. I suggest you go back now and try to fix it. Leave, today.”

Tywin bristled at the veiled exile. “I was hoping…”

“And I'm sure the Queen would benefit from a time with her father. Get her out of here where she cannot piss me off any more, before I take a leaf out of Lord Tully’s book and send her off to where she _can't_ bother me anymore.”

Pycelle gasped, Renly let his chin fall, and even Littlefinger was unable to mask how he was flabbergasted. Tywin breathed hard, red as a tomato, then turned on his heels and left the room, slamming the door loudly on his way out.

“The next ‘proposal’ that comes to this council, whoever might send it, will only be opened by myself or Lord Stark have I made myself clear?” Robert asked. The others only nodded.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

After she had successfully dealt with the High Septon and managed to send him away, Ella was left alone in the sanctuary. She walked around the heptagon and stopped in front of the Mother, lighting a candle for a deep and burning desire. She prayed for the daughter she and Ned had lost, for the six stepchildren her marriage had brought her, for her dying brother, for the brother she missed the most, for her sister, for her nephew…

“Are you satisfied with your plotting?” asked a woman’s voice.

Ella didn’t need to be too smart to guess who it was, and the voice was familiar from the one luncheon they had shared. “Catelyn,” she acknowledged, turning around. “I thought you would be with the girls.”

“You think bringing my daughters would shield you?”

“The girls wanted to see you. It was no subterfuge.”

“You don’t fool me, you whore!”

Ella bit back an insult, knowing the other woman was too emotional and having mentally prepared for this. “I am no whore. And I have neither the intent nor the need to fool you.”

“Because you have already fooled my husband.”

And then her Dornish blood flared. “ _My_ husband! You’re married to your gods now, Catelyn.”

“You think that just because he proposed to you you get to call him husband?” Catelyn sneered. “Why? Because you have already given him a son?”

“You might not have deigned to honour his gods,” Ella sneered back with the satisfaction of seeing the other’s face fall, “since I’m sure your arrogance makes you think only your gods matter, but I'm not that selfish. Don’t apply your flaws to me.”

Catelyn felt ice sink into her stomach. “Oh you little whore!”

“Your head must be wrong if you think that getting married makes me a whore.”

“You seduced Ned!” Catelyn yelled, her voice echoing on the walls of the otherwise empty Great Sept.

“Do you really think him so gullible?” Ella snorted.

“You are a cheap, common whore! You seduced him years ago, born him a son, abandoned the child, forced me to raise your bastard, and when he sets me aside you come back from the hole you lived in and weave your magic and forces him to marry you.”

“I didn’t need to force Ned to anything, Catelyn,” Ella said, furious. “He is his own man and he makes his own decisions. And if anyone forced him, your father did. Threatening to only give his support to the Rebellion if Ned and Jon Arryn married you and your sister. It was _you_ he was forced to marry. It was _you_ he never loved. It was _you_ he was forced to endure!”

She knew she was being petty, but she was so furious she didn’t care. Catelyn roared in fury. “ _I only thought I loved you_ ”, she remembered Ned saying. “ _I loved an illusion. The Catelyn I loved never existed_.”

“You're a lowly, common whore!” Catelyn yelled, furious. “And you're an old woman! I gave Ned five noble children, children of noble blood and high birth. What have you given him so far? A bastard! Deny it! I dare you! Deny it in front of the Mother! Deny it in the shade of all of the Seven!”

Ella chilled. She couldn’t deny it in front of the Mother, she couldn’t lie before the gods. “You are right. I don’t deny it. I have given Ned a child already.” _A daughter I couldn’t see grow up_ , she thought.

Catelyn roared again. “Whore!” she screamed, launching herself forward and slapping Ella. “You common bitch!”

Ella yelled in return, returning the slap. “You are a bitch. You’re a prudish cunt, only worried about yourself! A cruel child torturer!”

Catelyn went for another slap, but Ella held her hand and they were locked in a scuffle.

“You will never give him children!” Catelyn uttered, as if in a curse. “Ned will never have to suffer the dishonour of having to put up with the half-breeds you would birth, Winterfell will never be home to you common-blooded whelps!”

That was the last straw to Ella. She freed a hand and slapped Catelyn soundly on the face, echoing in the cavernous room. Catelyn’s nostrils trembled with fury and she launched in another attack. Ella yelled when her hair was pulled and retaliated, pulling the other’s hair as well, as they screamed curses at each other.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned felt like some time away from the castle would do him, his wife and daughters some good, so he ordered that a picnic basket be made and their horses saddled. He would go to meet them at the Great Sept and then they could have a fun afternoon by the Blackwater Rush. He was eager to see the riding tricks Daenerys’ Dothraki handmaiden had taught Sansa and Arya, and this would be a grand opportunity.

Fat Tom was waiting outside the Sept of Baelor with the litter when Ned arrived. “They’ve gone in a while ago, my lord,” the guard said after Ned had dismounted. “Jory gave me his sword, so as to not insult the gods, and he told me to wait here as he followed Lady Stark and the little ladies inside.”

Ned thanked him and unbuckled his own sword belt, leaving it with Fat Tom as well. Although he ordered his men to stay back, Alyn also left his sword behind and followed. “Lord Stark!” the High Septon exclaimed as soon as the two of them crossed the threshold. “What a surprise!”

“Good afternoon, Your High Holiness. I’ve come to get my betrothed and my daughters.”

“Oh, but of course. Lady Ella and I were just discussing the details of your marriage ceremony, and I think we are both satisfied now. She asked for a moment alone to pray before the Seven, and I was more than happy to comply.”

“And my daughters?”

“Speaking with their mother.” The High Septon smiled. “I could take you to Lady Ella, she is just in the main sanctuary.”

“No, let her pray in peace. If you could point me to my daughters?”

“Of course, this way.” The man said, leading them through a narrow corridor to a row of rooms. A young assistant was leaving one of the rooms. “Colen! Where are the Stark girls and their guard?”

“Lady Arya requested to see the old Targaryen crypts so Sister Catelyn took them there. She said she knew her way, so I didn’t see the need to follow.”

“Of course,” the High Septon didn’t seem pleased with this turn of events. “Come, Lord Stark, I shall take you to them.”

Ned nodded and they followed through the Sept down to the lower levels. Finally, after what seemed like a quarter of an hour, they heard Arya’s laughter. “Father!” she exclaimed once they came into view. “What are you doing here?”

Ned frowned. “Where is your mother?”

“She said she had to go to a reading of the Seven-Pointed Star,” Sansa answered. “But that we could stay until Ella called for us.”

“There is no reading happening now, Your High Holiness,” Colen said. “Today is a day of meditation for the sisters.”

Ned had a bad feeling. “What’s the fastest way back to the main sanctuary?” he demanded, his head taken over by thoughts of Ella.

“I can take us back, my lord,” Alyn said — he was known for his remarkable sense of direction.

Ned only nodded and they walked briskly back up and down the corridors. His fears were proven right even before they entered the main sanctuary, as they could hear the scuffle and yelling even behind the shut door. They walked into a side door between the Maiden and the Smith and it wasn’t hard to see Catelyn and Ella locked in a catfight across the room, right beneath the Mother’s statue.

Ned ran across the sanctuary, jumping in between them, trying to keep them apart but both women seemed possessed, furiously yelling curses at each other, and Ned was having a hard time holding them back. Alyn, after a moment of shock, came and helped.

“Enough! Enough!” Ned yelled. Alyn pulled Catelyn away from behind, and all the while she tried to escape his grip. Ned held Ella by the waist and started pushing her backwards. “Enough!” he yelled a third time. “In the name of the gods, you’re inside a sept!”

Ella was breathing hard and if looks could kill, Catelyn would be dead already. She clenched her jaw, her cheeks tinted red with anger, and looked away.

“Did you come to defend your whore?” Catelyn asked.

Ned was enraged. “I said enough, Catelyn!”

“She admitted it, you know! She admitted to the bastard she gave you. The bastard you forced me to raise!”

“Alyn, Lady Catelyn is distressed,” Ned said in a cold voice. “Take her inside so the other septas can help her to her room.”

“I’ll tell you what I told your whore,” Catelyn continued, unabashed. “In front of the Mother I curse you, whore! You will _never_ give birth to another of your common-blooded half-breeds! You will _never_ give Ned a child!”

“I SAID ENOUGH!” his voice boomed around the marbled sanctuary, and he had to actually hold Ella back since she wanted to advance on the other woman again. “Enough, Catelyn! This was the last time you have cursed my family! This was the last time you have wished ill on me and mine!” Ella stopped fighting to get free so Ned held her arm and rose to his full height. “For fifteen years you have prayed for my son’s death, you have prayed against his marriage, you even prayed for the death of my granddaughter. And now you dare pray against me and my children again. No more! Do you hear me? No more!”

Catelyn was about to give a furious and sassy reply when they heard a gasp from the side door Ned and Alyn had come from. Sansa, Arya, and Jory had followed and clearly heard. The younger had a disgusted and betrayed face while the redhead had taken a hand to cover her mouth and her eyes were filled with tears.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	34. 33 Waterworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In King's Landing, Sansa and Arya confront their mother while the Lannisters react to Tywin's news. In the Blessed Island, Benjen and Ayla talk about the past while the Midnight Fortress' family wing experiences water damage.

**Chapter 33**

**Waterworks**

 

Sam drummed his fingers on his desk, thinking over what Jon was saying. “It’s actually a good idea,” he said after a moment. “We’ll still be hard-pressed for money, but in the long run it is a sound and necessary investment, and one that will be cheaper the sooner we start it, so it’s best to start it already.” He let out a relieved breath. “Thank the gods, I was already dreading Dany’s reaction.”

Jon chuckled. “Not as much as I was.”

Sam nodded, conceding the point. “Do you… do you still want _me_ to be there when you tell her?”

“No, thank you.” Jon chuckled again, “I think I can handle it.” He stood up. “I just need my lucky charm.”

Sam laughed, knowing what he meant. “Do you have no shame?”

Jon feigned a gasp. “For spending time with my daughter? Most certainly not!”

Sam kept laughing as he watched his friend leave his solar. _Gods help us all when those two have another child!_ He thought. Then he paled, widening his eyes. _Gods help us all when Lyanna gets old enough to want things!_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Arya started to cross the sanctuary to where the adults were. “Is it true?” she asked. Everyone was frozen. “Mother! I want to hear it from you! Is – it – true?”

Catelyn had started to cry as well. “Arya… I… you don’t understand!”

“It’s a simple question, Mother,” Sansa said, also having come closer. Her voice was trembling and her face was drenched in tears, but she transpired a kind of determination no one had seen before. “Did you pray for Jon’s death? Did you pray against Jon and Daenerys’ marriage? Did you pray for Lyanna’s death?”

“You can't believe what this who—”

“Watch your mouth, Catelyn!” Ned snapped.

“We are asking _you_ , Mother,” Arya insisted. “I want to hear it from you.”

“In front of the gods, Mother,” Sansa pointed out. “Tell us in front of the gods what you have been asking of them.”

Catelyn sobbed. “Sansa, please…”

“So it _is_ true!” the redhead exclaimed. “I can't believe you! Why would you do this? _How_ could you do this?” her tears had intensified and she looked more than sad, she was devastated, as if the world had been pulled from under her.

“Why can't you admit it?!” Arya cried. “You did it, you were proudly yelling it for all to hear! Why are you suddenly ashamed of it just because Sansa and I heard?”

“My girls… my sweet girls… you don’t understand!”

“There is nothing to understand,” Sansa said resolutely. Her posture had hardened and there was a bite of steel in her previously soft voice. She looked like a lady, ready to pass her judgement. “You have wished ill on the pack and Father rightly sent you away. Now you wish ill on the pack again, and you can't even admit to your own actions, and that shows me you feel no regret for them. So I rightly cut all ties with you. I have nothing else to say to you, _Sister Catelyn_.” With that, Sansa caught her skirts, turned on her heels and left the Sept. Arya watched her go with newfound appreciation for her sister.

“Arya…” Catelyn held out a hand.

But the girl stepped back and turned to her mother with a cold gleam in her Stark grey eyes. “If you ever get anywhere near the pack again, you’ll see how sharp a wolf’s fang can be.” And with that she followed behind Sansa.

Ned nodded towards the side door and Alyn started to pull Catelyn in that direction, nearly dragging the unresponsive woman. Ned turned to Ella, upset with her red face, scratch marks, and undone hair. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “I'm sorry. I lost my temper.”

“Are you really?” he asked with a raised brow and a knowing almost-smile.

She sighed. “I am sorry I lost my temper and I am terribly, terribly sorry the girls had to watch it. But she deserved the slap and that I do not regret. Besides, she started it. I sent Jory with the girls exactly to avoid this.”

“I know.” Ned exhaled. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up so we can get out of here.”

Ned had no idea how to fix her braids, but Ella was beyond caring, so she just started pulling all the pins from her hair, letting it cascade down her back. She pulled the collar of her dress back to rights, but there was no fixing the rip in the lace of her sleeve.

“I’d offer my cloak, my lady, but I don’t think that would please you,” Jory said.

“No, thank you, Jory, that would only make matters worse. Come on, I just want to get home.” Then she turned to Ned. “What are you even doing here?”

“I had thought to have a picnic by the river,” he replied. “But I don’t think the mood is conducive to it now.”

“Honestly, I just want to have peace and quiet. But let’s ask the girls what they think and let them decide.”

They left the Sept and found Fat Tom, Harwin, and the other two guards Ned had brought standing to attention next to the litter. Ned helped Ella inside and then stuck his head into the tight space. Unlike she preferred, Sansa had the curtains drawn and was turned to the side, hiding her face. Arya was staring at the ceiling.

“Is everyone alright?” Ned asked.

“Can we go home, please?” Sansa asked in a small voice.

Ella nodded. “Of course we can,” Ned said.

“Father? Can you ask someone to send for Syrio on the way?” Arya asked.

Ned curved the sides of his mouth in a weak smile. _You really are a little she-wolf, my sweet girl_ , he thought. “Sure. I’ll see you at the Tower.” He stepped back just as Alyn came out of the building.

“The septas have her, my lord. The High Septon wasn’t happy.”

Ned exhaled. “She should have thought of that before. Alyn would you please go and ask Lady Arya’s dancing teacher to come as soon as he can?”

The men buckled their sword belts and went up on their horses, starting the way down the narrow, eternally crowded streets of the capital.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Tywin punched a vase as soon as he crossed the threshold into his chambers. _The fucking fat stag and his wolf pal!_ He cursed mentally. _If they think they can rule this realm without my support they are sorely mistaken!_

“Father?” Cersei called from the back of the room where she had been waiting. “How was the meeting?”

“Lord Stark was there,” he answered as if the name were poison. “He brought Robert. That man is a threat to our family!”

“I told you,” Tyrion said, playing with a goblet, “Ned Stark is too honourable to be useful for our House.”

Tywin pursed his lips, his anger swelling. The last thing he needed was lessons on morality from his dwarf of a son.

“I thought Lord Baelish was on our side,” Cersei said. “That he would help you win over the Small Council in order to put pressure on Stark.”

“He was, but there wasn’t any time. Stark and Robert came into the room before we could even get started. And then the fucking cunt meddled and I couldn’t present the deal as I wanted.” Tywin clenched his jaw and took a moment to calm down. “Baelish was supposed to read it out to the Council and ‘forget’ the last paragraph, which was the damning part to the bastard and dragon and the nothing for the Treasury. But Stark took the scroll and he read it and he said he agreed until exactly the paragraph he was not supposed to know about until after the law was signed.”

“So he shut down the proposal?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes,” Tywin admitted with a bitter taste in his mouth. He clenched and unclenched his fists, imagining they were around the wolf’s neck. “And he was mocking me while doing it.”

“And what else?” Tyrion asked as he watched his father’s reaction. “Stark either called you a fool or worse in front of the others or something else happened, because you are angrier than usual.”

“Robert told me to go back to Casterly Rock,” he spoke through tight lips, so that it was hard to understand.

“He told you to leave the capital?” Cersei asked, shocked.

“Yes,” he admitted begrudgingly. “And you have to come with me.”

The room was so silent that one could hear a pin drop.

“What?” Cersei demanded in a dangerously low tone.

“You heard me,” Tywin replied. “We’ve been scurried away from the capital because your idiotic husband is listening to his holier-than-thou hypocritical friend. Honestly, how pathetic, to preach of honour and decency when he claimed a bastard and shamed his wife in front of the whole realm. And now that he grew tired of her, he forced her to join the Faith, and took a common whore to bed.”

“I don’t care if Eddard Stark is a hypocrite!” Cersei screeched. “I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and my place is in the Red Keep.”

“Unfortunately for all of us, Robert still draws breath, which means he is the one sitting his ass in the fucking throne. He told us to go, so we are leaving.”

“I cannot believe how you are accepting this so easily!” Cersei exclaimed. “Father!”

He glared at her. “Do you really think I'm accepting anything?” Tywin sneered. “Let them think they’ve won. Let them think the lions are retreating to lick their wounds. Aerys thought the same and I laughed last. I will laugh last again.” _What is a pack compared to a pride?_ he thought.

Cersei smiled smugly, but Tyrion felt a bit of uneasiness. He knew his father too well, so he knew Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark had made a dangerous enemy that day — not that they had ever been friends before. Tywin Lannister would take his revenge in a way that it would go down in the history books forever.

But Tywin seemed to be forgetting that Aerys had been a hated king whom everyone already wanted to replace. Rhaegar had fallen so supporting Robert had been the only alternative at that point. But Robert was leading a peaceful and stable reign and Eddard Stark had the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and even the Reach at his back. This was not going to be the same easy war.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Arya stomped up to her room as soon as she jumped out of the litter, promptly dropping her pretty dress and reaching for her increasing pile of breeches and tunics. She rushed down to the room where she and Syrio practiced and took her wooden sword — the Bravoosi had forbidden her to use Needle until she was ready since he had said “it would be a grave crime to ruin such a lovely gift and such a wonderful blade”. So she took the practice sword and went to the nearly unused dummy in the corner. She was seeing red as she let her emotions flow through her.

“ _For fifteen years you have prayed for my son’s death,_ ” Father had said.

She grunted and attacked the dummy with renewed strength.

“ _You even prayed for the death of my granddaughter._ ”

She yelled out, exploding in anger. Lyanna was an innocent baby! Jon wasn’t guilty of being a bastard! What had her mother thought, that he had appeared, asked their father to break his vows because he wanted to be born a bastard?

Arya didn’t know how long she was there, hacking and hitting the dummy until a second sword caught hers and disarmed her.

“You are troubled?” Syrio asked in his heavily accented voice.

“Yes. My mother… she… I don’t know how I feel other than angry.”

“Good!” Syrio exclaimed, throwing Arya’s ruined old sword away and giving her a fresh new one, “Trouble is a perfect time for training. When you’re dancing in the meadow with your dolls and kittens, this not when fighting happens.”

“I don’t like dolls and kittens!” Arya snapped.

“You are not here, you’re with your trouble. If you’re with your trouble when fighting happens…” he charged and Arya danced back until Syrio managed to have her on her back. “More trouble for you. Tsk, tsk. Just so, how can you be quick as a snake,” he charged again and Arya parried back, managing to stand back up, “or quite as a shadow, when you’re somewhere else?” he finished, having disarmed the girl and pointing both swords at her neck. You are upset with your mother?”

Arya nodded. “She’s… she has prayed to her gods asking for something — well, for a few things in fact. But they were things that I can't forgive her for wishing for.”

Syrio nodded. “Do you pray to the gods, girl?”

“The old and the new,” Arya said. “Or… I don’t know.”

“There is only one god,” he said, using his pointer to lift her chin to look at him. “And his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to death,” he returned Arya’s sword and stepped back. “Not today.”

He charged again, and Arya focused on the song of wood against wood, the way their feet moved against the stone. Finally, something that made sense.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sansa, unlike her sister, didn’t have the need to physically extravasate her emotions, so she went to her chambers and closed herself in, feeling like the world had gone mad. Her mother, her mommy, had been capable of something so vile! She remembered all those times growing up when her mommy would tell her of the Faith, the gods, how praying connected one with the gods and gave one protection, how hate took one away from the gods and brought shame and disaster to one’s family. She remembered the countless times reading the Seven-Pointed Star, all the times she was told to be good and dutiful and pious. Today she had learned that it was all utter bullshit.

It was no great shock for Sansa to hear that her mother didn’t like Jon — how many times did her mother try to tell Sansa that Jon was her _half_ -brother, that he was bad company, that she shouldn’t spend time with him? Countless. If Daenerys hadn’t run interference, Sansa would have followed her mother and distanced herself from her brother and one day, she was certain, she would have grown to regret it — and she was also certain that Jon, kind and brotherly Jon, he would smile and say ‘there’s nothing to forgive’.

Sansa had seen how Jon’s things were always second best, how he had less, how Sansa herself needed to help him mend his clothes. She had witnessed as her mother had punished Pol for bringing firewood and lighting fires. She had been to Jon’s room several times, the small room they could barely fit in, and she remembered how Jon never had the fireplace on despite the cold bite of summer snows. But to go as far as… Sansa shivered.

“ _For fifteen years you have prayed for my son’s death,_ ” Father had said. Mother was a great lady and had married into a great House, of course she would take offence at her husband having a bastard, especially one that was younger than his heir. But to… to pray for his death? To pray against his marriage? What had Jon ever done to Catelyn? What had Dany ever done to offend her so? “ _You even prayed for the death of my granddaughter._ ” How could she pray, how could she wish any ill on an innocent child? A little girl, guilty only of being born to her parents. That was unforgivable. That was… Sansa didn’t even have words to qualify it.

How good was praying if you wished ill thoughts? How good was preaching if you couldn’t follow your own words? No good, that’s what it was.

For moons Sansa had pretended to not notice how her parents were estranged after her father had dismissed several servants and even given Jon the new room, though it was still a moon before the wedding. She had cried and despaired when Mother had been sent away from Winterfell, and even though she knew Father had to have had his reasons, she could never have imagined… she should have.

Even when they arrived in King’s Landing, she hadn’t noticed how her father was happier and lighter — not until Arya had pointed it out. Maybe this was why Sansa hadn’t noticed anything, she had been too absorbed in her own misery to wonder why would Ned Stark have sent his wife away from his castle. She had been too awed by the magnificence of the capital to see how her own father was behaving. She was too selfish, too self-absorbed to worry about her family.

And when Mother had come to say that she was joining the Faith, all Sansa could think of was how she was giving up her position, how she and Ned would never reconcile, and how Sansa would never have her mommy back living in the same castle. How stupid she had been, as Arya forever accused her of being.

But no more.

She had been good and she had believed in the song and dances and the knights her mother and septa had told her to believe in. She had been mocked and made fun of and her precious prince had almost killed Lady. Songs were for children.

She had been dutiful and pious, and she had seen what dutifulness and piety had allowed her mother to pray for. Piety was for the foolish.

She had been a perfect southern lady and that had turned out to be the worst thing possible. She missed the freedom of Winterfell. She enjoyed riding astride like the northern ladies, nothing of this complicated and bloody uncomfortable saddle she had had to endure the one time she had gone riding with the Queen — a ride that lasted less than an hour, unlike the long daily rides with Arya and Ella.

Once, a long time ago, in Winterfell, her father had said: “ _my daughters are daughters of the North_ ”. The old, stupid Sansa hadn’t appreciated it. Now, she did.

She pulled the dragonfly necklace from her neck and threw it away.

_I'm a Stark of Winterfell._

_I'm a she-wolf._

She remembered her father’s warning when they’d gotten to King's Landing. _When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

 _After all_ , Sansa thought, _winter is coming. And the pack survives._

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sitting back in the plush armchair in her chambers, Ayla was sewing away another dress for Lyanna. The light coming through the open balcony doors was weaning so she’d soon need to move back closer to the fire, but for now it was still enough. Benjen chuckled as he got into the room.

“What?” she asked.

“You do know Dany hired a seamstress exactly to unburden you, right?”

She shrugged. “It’s a hobby. I’m used to…” she looked down to the sewing in her hands. “It was the one thing I could always do that would allow me to escape from the sorry place around me. And then I could trade it for food and it was enough. I just never gave it up.”

Benjen knelt by her chair. “You won't ever need to trade for food again. That I promise you.”

“I know,” Ayla smiled weakly. “And I also know I don’t need to resort to sewing to forget that I'm watching you throw away all our hard earned money. It’s just something that I enjoy doing now. It fills my time.”

Benjen clenched his jaw. Every little snippet she let out about her former husband made his blood boil with anger. If the man were still alive, he’d have sailed to Dorne long ago to show him what he deserved for treating a woman as such.

“Let it go, Benjen,” she said, patting his cheek. “He’s long dead.”

“He should’ve been working his fingers to the bone to put food on your table, not wasting money in… in… I don’t know, drink and whores or whatever.”

Ayla sighed. She still had a hard time opening up those old wounds. “He never went to whores, though sometimes I wished he did. No, his mistress was his cup.”

“How did you end up working at the Tower?” Benjen asked. “You never told me.”

Ayla took a deep breath. “His father was dying and he was drinking more and working less. The cheese farm alone was not enough for his expenses, so we were going hungry. Then the news came that they were opening the Tower for some visiting nobleman and looking for servants. I knew I would be able to have my meals there and get enough coin to last for a while. So I made a deal with a neighbour who had a few too many sons — two of them could have milk and cheese from the farm if they did the work. It was still more expensive than doing it ourselves, but better than the way Dirk was doing it.”

“And he just let you start working at a nobleman’s castle? He doesn’t sound the type.”

Ayla sighed, the story passing through her mind in a whirl, especially the event that had culminated in Dirk’s and ultimately Rya’s deaths. “No. No, he wasn’t the type.”

Benjen held back an eye roll, knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated and also that she was done talking. Ayla always closed up when the past was mentioned. He couldn’t even fathom what it was like to lose a child, but he knew very well the pull of family. It must be an excruciating pain, and that is why he never forced her to talk.

So he brought from behind his back the bunch of fireflowers he had been hiding. She smiled, taking the flowers with care.

“You know these are my favourite,” she said.

He smiled proudly. “Exactly why I continuously bring them.”

She chuckled, amused, setting her sewing aside and bringing the flowers up to so she could smell them. The scent was familiar, like a candle burning or a day in deep summer, and it soothed her dark mood.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

When Jon came into the nursery, Lyanna and Mary were in the rug by the fireplace, playing as a maid filled the little tub.

“I was about to bathe her, my lord,” the nanny said.

“Oh. I can do that,” Jon said, picking up his daughter, who as always was happy to see him, squealing and giggling.

Mary gave him a sceptical look. “Are you sure?”

“Of course! She’s a baby, how hard can it be?”

A few moments later, he understood the nanny’s scepticism. Lyanna, never one to sit quietly, didn’t accept to wait calmly to be cleaned. Rather, she sat in the middle of the little tub splashing her hands over the water and throwing it all around. If before only the hem of Jon’s breeches were damp from the lake, now his whole front was wet. Even his curls were hanging wet over his eyes.

Daenerys laughed as she came into the room. “Did a war break out and I was unaware?”

Lyanna squealed louder, clapping her hands faster on the surface. Jon huffed, momentarily blinded by the splash. “Well, it seems I’m losing!”

Dany laughed again. “Come on, I’ll take over, you should go to your own bath. Doreah and Irri are preparing a bath for me, you go ahead and I’ll take this messy girl.”

Lyanna brought her tiny hands from the bottom up, making a gush of water raise up again. Jon, now drenched, threw her a censoring look. “You are a little brat,” he accused and she smiled a toothless smile, not even slightly abashed. Dany clenched her jaw to keep in a laugh as Jon reached for a towel, then took Lyanna from the tub and wrapped her on it. “You’re coming too, Dany!” he yelled as he walked out of the nursery.

Dany blinked, startled, before following her husband. Jon left the nursery and walked the short distance to the Lord’s Chambers, across the sitting room, and into the bathing chamber. Doreah and Irri, who had been inside as Daenerys had said, quickly finished getting the bath ready. Irri helped Dany undress and once she was inside the pool, Jon gave her a highly entertained Lyanna. As the handmaidens left, Jon peeled his drenched clothes off and joined his wife and daughter.

“You were very naughty for your papa!” Daenerys was admonishing her daughter.

“I’ll show her how fun splashing around is!” Jon exclaimed, sweeping his arms on the surface and making a wave rise over the girls.

Dany gasped, but Lyanna squealed, waving arms and feet around in a fit of giggles. “I don’t know educative this is, Jon,” Dany censored.

He shrugged. “She has enough time to learn how to be a lady.” Then he reached for Lyanna, took her from Dany’s arms and engaged in a splash war, throwing her on the air and letting her submerge to her chest.

Later on, once the water was growing tepid, Dany was sitting on the bench cradling a sleepy baby on her chest — after all the energy they had spent splashing about, Lyanna would probably sleep soundly until the morning. Jon came to sit next to his wife, eyeing the room around them: the water had splashed over the sides of the pool and gotten more than half the marbled floor soaked.

“I’m sorry about the mess.”

She smiled. “You should say that to the servants, not me.”

“Lya had fun,” Jon shrugged, as if that was all the justification he needed.

Daenerys chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, my dearest girl, may the gods help us once you realise how tightly you have your papa wrapped around your cute little fingers.”

Lyanna, half asleep already, reached out and took Jon’s hand, pulling it to pillow her head. “Dada,” she mumbled, settling against Dany.

The parents looked at her shocked, but she seemed unaware of what she had done, already asleep.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	35. 34 A Whirlwind of Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone starts to make their way south to Ella and Ned's wedding, who have their hands full with all their guests, while Robert summons the Court for a tense and stress-filled session.

**Chapter 34**

**A Whirlwind of Emotions**

 

The whirlwind of emotion kept a dark cloud and bad moods for several days over the Tower of the Hand. Slowly, though, the girls managed to overcome the hurdle and come out of themselves. Ella threw herself into the preparations for the wedding, but every now and again Catelyn’s words came as a weight over her shoulders.

Day after day, week after week, and the subject was closed. Fast, too fast, they had to send over a big card and arrange for Bran’s name day gift and, soon after, prepare for Arya’s. By then it was too close to the wedding and Jon sent a raven saying they were boarding the _Lady Daenerys_ to come south. Ned was amused, watching his wife running around and preparing the Tower for their guests down to every detail, such as demanding to know everyone’s favourite food and decorating Rickon’s chambers with great care.

He wanted to go down to the docks and meet them off the boat, but there was council business he couldn’t avoid so when Ned finally made it back, he could hear the raucous from the courtyard, and found his whole family — except for Bran — having tea and laughing loudly. Rickon jumped from Sansa’s lap, where he was being tickled by his sisters, and ran across the room, yelling “Father!” and throwing himself around Ned’s knees. He laughed, picking him up and into a hug.

He joined the others and Lyanna, who had been in Ella’s lap playing with her hair, slid to the floor and crawled over, raising her tiny arms and babbling, demanding to be picked up. Rickon frowned at her, tightening his hold on Ned’s shoulder, making clear he was going nowhere. Ned laughed again, securing Rickon in one arm and bending over to pickup Lyanna with the other.

“I can see your arms are too full to say hello to your other sons, Father,” Robb joked.

Ned laughed. “Hello Robb, hello Jon. I’m sure grown men like you can wait your turn.”

“Robb is just jealous, Father,” Arya teased.

Then the sibling rivalry picked up and one started teasing the other. They were laughing at a joke Benjen told when Jory came into the room, breaking up the loud family reunion.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said. “There is a man here to see you. He is quite insistent.”

“Who?” Ned demanded, looking up from Lyanna, who hadn’t left his lap.

“He wouldn’t give a name, my lord. Said only he needed to see you soon, that he was late because he was supposed to have been here to bring these news with the dawn or in the morning,” Jory said, confused, as it was still just getting to noon.

Ella dropped the cup and saucer she had been holding, making the iced tea spill all over her dress and the floor, her heart beating erratic in her chest.

“Ella!” Sansa exclaimed, pulling her skirts from the direction of the spill.

“I’m… I’m sorry, dear. I was… terribly clumsy.” She looked up to Ned, her face paling in shock.

“Sansa, Arya, take Rickon and show him the rest of the tower. Now!” Ned ordered quickly. The girls understood from his tone that there would be no arguing. “Show him in, Jory, and tell no one.”

The guard nodded and left. Ella stood up, uncaring that the hem of her dress was getting spoiled, and waited impatiently until the door opened again. She cried out and crossed the room, throwing her arms around the man as if he’d vanish otherwise. He chuckled, a deep and throaty sound, as if he were unused to doing it, and squeezed her back just as fiercely.

“I missed you too, little sister,” his voice was gruff but soft.

“You’re mad!” she cried, pulling back with her face drenched in tears. “How… why… Others take you, Arthur, how can you just come here of all places!”

“I didn’t let this stupid beard grow on my face out of a love for how it looks, Ash. I look like a beggar, no one will spare me a second glance, let alone look for a man long dead.”

She sobbed again and pulled him into another hug. He smiled as he allowed her the time to fuss, but looked around the room. Robb and Jon were looking at them shocked, but exhilarated — they were in the presence of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning! Arthur bit back his comment as he broke the hug and turned to Ned.

“About time, Lord Stark.”

“You’re not starting, Arthur,” Ella said. “Neither of you are,” she sent a warning look to Ned as well.

“There’s nothing to start, little sister. I just meant…”

“We know what you meant, Artie, and I doubt this argument has changed anything from when you had it seventeen years ago.”

Ned knew better than to say anything, though he knew Arthur would say what he wanted to say the minute Ella turned her back. “These are my sons, Robb and Jon,” he introduced.

Arthur looked to them. “You—” he started and Ella pinched his arm, giving him a meaningful look. He rolled his eyes. “Nice to make your acquaintance.

“And my brother Benjen and his wife Ayla.”

Arthur’s eyes focused on the woman and glinted in recognition. “My lord, my lady.”

“And I have to say—” Ned started, but when Arthur turned back to him, his eyes were focused on the girl still in his arms.

Lyanna looked curiously to the newcomer, but then decided she wanted a closer look and started wiggling to be put down. Ned did as she asked and she crawled across the room, stopping by Arthur’s feet. He crouched down, a smile on his face.

“Hello there, little princess.”

The girl smiled, suddenly shy, and crawled all the way back to her mother. Dany picked her up and Lyanna promptly hid her face on her mother’s neck, taking amused chuckles from the others.

Ned cleared his throat. “I’m sure you understand the dangers of your presence.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “No, I’ve been hiding in a hut in the middle of nowhere for the past seventeen years because my presence in Robert’s Court would be very welcome.” Ella pinched him again and he cried out. “Fine, I’m sorry. Yes, Lord Stark, I understand the danger. But I have precautions in place that won’t allow anyone to recognise me. Well, not anyone who doesn’t know I’m alive. Besides, I could hardly miss my little sister’s wedding.”

“I’ll have rooms prepared for you,” Ella said, interrupting before they could start butting heads again, as was their habit. “Come, we have loads to catch up to.”

She dragged him away, ignoring Ned’s eye roll and clear irritation. Arthur finally removed his cloak once they were inside her solar and the door was barred. His dark hair was beginning to show some speckles of grey, but it was still mostly dark. He went to the perch near the window and petted Dawn’s head.

“Where is Dusk?” she asked. “Did you bring him?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Can we make it a rule that Allyria is forbidden from naming another hawk?”

“I might have suggested that already.” Ella laughed. “Though she wasn’t pleased. Apparently, I lack sense of humour and appreciation to jokes. And she did name their eyas* Noon, so I guess she’s having fun.”

He scoffed, but decided not to comment. “I sent a letter to big brother. He said she looks just like Mother.”

“She does. Though she is more like Father underneath.”

“Gods help Lord Dondarrion, then.” Arthur laughed. “And may they also protect their children from the insanity of their mother’s name-giving.”

Ella joined his laughter. “Hear, hear. But you didn’t travel all this way, facing untold dangers, to talk to me about our little sister.”

He chuckled. “You’re still as sharp as ever.” He raised his wrist, showing her a bracelet with a charm. “It’s a glamour.”

She frowned. “You refused to buy that when we were in Essos. Did you go back there?”

“I made sure to board a ship that would stop by Bravoos before coming here. I figured I was done hiding out and that, like you said, we don’t have all we need for a full-blown war yet. Besides, swallowing my pride and wearing a disguise is a price I’m willing to pay to attend your wedding.”

She smiled, coming to hug him. “This was the best gift I could ever have gotten.”

“Don’t know about that,” he said, taking a strand of her hair. “Chamomile?”

“A necessary evil,” she said with a shrug.

“You hate dying your hair,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Artie, you are much more recognisable than me, but if I didn’t do anything I would have been recognised. You know that.” He pulled a second bracelet from his pocket. “How does it work?” she asked. “You still look like Artie.”

He chuckled. “To you and to those who know I’m alive. To anyone else, especially if they suspect it, they see me, but they can’t connect my face to my name.”

“And you’re sure it works?”

“Well, Jaime Lannister used to follow me around like a puppy, saying I was his hero and example. If anyone would recognise me, it would be him. But he didn’t. Walked past me, even helped me to my feet when one of his soldiers threw me down, but didn’t know me from the baker down the street.”

She took the glamour he was offering. “Thank you, then. I won’t be sorry to stop dying my hair and I’m sure Ned will rejoice we can cut back on the whole chamomile tea thing.”

“Not his favourite tea?”

“Arthur…” she warned. He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Anyway, we have to come up with your story, brother.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next morning, Robert called everyone to the Throne Room, demanding to meet Lyanna. Jon had clenched his jaw and Daenerys had raged months ago, when they received Ned’s raven telling of the King’s wish, but knew there was nothing to do. So, although they would have very much preferred to leave Lyanna safely ensconced behind the walls of the Midnight Fortress with Sam, they had had to bring her to the dangerous capital.

The Court had assembled for the ‘presentation’, and Daenerys felt only apprehension, squeezing Lyanna tighter in her arms. Intellectually, she knew Robert Baratheon wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything, not in front of so many people, and not when Ned Stark was his Hand. She also knew that Jon, Ned, Benjen, Robb, and Arthur Dayne himself were surrounding her, ready to protect her daughter at any sign of danger, but even that wasn’t enough consolation.

But she put her meek mask in place and followed two steps behind her husband, bowing when they were before the Iron Throne, even if she had to nearly use her hands to make her knees bend. The throne belonged to House Targaryen, not to the fat usurper currently sitting on it. However, her family’s safety was more important than her familial indignation.

“Rise, Lord Starling,” the usurper said.

“My King,” Jon greeted, feeling the words hard to say. “May I present my daughter, the Lady Lyanna Starling.”

Robert looked at the child in Daenerys’ arms. Like Ned had said, she had dark hair that, like her father’s, fell in curls to her shoulders, pulled back by a sash of blue silk, matching her pretty blue dress. The woman had her eyes downcast, but Robert wasn’t even seeing her.

“Come closer, girl,” he commanded. “I wish to see her properly.”

Daenerys forced herself to keep breathing in and out and obeyed the King, feeling Jon move to keep in step with her. She stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the throne, still facing down, Jon right next to her.

Ser Meryn stepped forward, unsheathing a bit of his sword. “That’s close enough!” he snapped threateningly.

Ella squeezed her brother’s arm, holding him back. The man was furious that his status of commoner didn’t allow him to carry a sword on his hip, but he had several daggers strategically placed within the folds of his clothes. Ned, however, stepped forward followed by Jory, who did the same gesture as the Kingsguard.

“Shut up, you fool!” Robert called from the throne. “Put away your blade and go be stupid somewhere else. I said closer, girl!”

The Court was frozen, looking at the scene develop before them. Dany felt her heart fail a beat. Everyone but Robert seemed tense and anxious, but the King was oblivious to the commotion he was causing. Knowing what having Daenerys any closer to the throne could cause, Jon took Lyanna from her and made a show of pointing backwards. Still keeping her head low, Daenerys stepped back, meekly distancing herself from the throne, hearing her blood roaring in her ears as Jon climbed the steps to the King.

Still clueless to the tense atmosphere around him, Robert reached for the baby when Jon got close enough. Clenching his jaw, knowing he had no choice, Jon squeezed Lyanna’s hand and obeyed though he wanted nothing more than to take his wife and daughter and sail back home. The girl looked up to her father, who smiled encouragingly, and she turned to Robert.

The King had tears in his eyes, holding the baby as if she were made of the finest porcelain. “Oh, what a sweet child! You look like a Stark, girl! Like your father! You are going to make your father and grandfather proud, aren’t you? Their blood, the blood of the North is stronger than the weakness cursed upon you, I can see that.”

Jon forced himself to not react. Lyanna stayed quiet, what was completely uncharacteristic of her. It seemed the tenseness had impressed itself even on her, though she obviously had no idea what was happening. After a moment, though, she started to feel uncomfortable and whined, trying to turn away from Robert. In an attempt to keep her from falling, Robert moved brusquely to hold her, slicing the side of his hand in one of the barbs of the throne. Doing the same automatic move to catch his daughter, Jon felt the twisted metal passing against his arm, felt the burning sting of pain, and even heard the fabric of his sleeve tearing. He didn’t care, though, taking Lyanna and bringing her back into his arms.

Taking the opportunity to escape as Ser Barristan brought a handkerchief for Robert’s bleeding hand, Jon made the way down the steps and re-joined his family, stopping next to Daenerys, who hadn’t yet lifted her eyes. Lyanna clutched her father’s jerkin tightly, making clear she wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

With the King sufficiently distracted, Ned managed to adjourn the Court, and they all quickly returned to the sanctuary the Tower of the Hand provided amidst the gossip of the other courtiers.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

After the nerve wracking Court session, Daenerys and Jon had taken Lyanna and locked themselves in their chambers. The girl had been whiny and bothered, refusing to leave Jon’s arms unless her mother was the one reaching for her and then refusing to go with anyone else. Dany reached for Jon’s arm when they had sat with Lyanna and a bunch of her toys.

“Oh. I thought you had cut yourself as well.”

Jon twisted his arm to look. “Odd. I though so too.” He frowned, remembering having felt the burning pain of the metal against his skin. But now that he wasn’t worried about his family’s safety, he could think clearly and didn’t recall having felt the actual cut or the hot wetness of the blood dripping. “Obviously it didn’t happen. Only ruined the shirt.”

“If that is the only casualty, then I suppose we should count ourselves lucky,” Daenerys mumbled.

Jon snorted, but kept quiet, and they distracted themselves playing with Lyanna. Later on, Dany put her down to nap, falling asleep right along the baby after the emotionally exhausting morning they had had, and Jon decided to leave the room. Instead of making him tired, the tension had electrified him and he didn’t want his manic energy to rouse his wife and daughter so he decided to leave them be. He chuckled once he opened the door, finding Rellos and Orys standing guard.

“I should have guessed,” he said, closing the door behind himself.

“All due respect, my lord,” the Captain of the Guard said, “but you’re going nowhere without escort. Much less the little lady.”

He smiled. “Thank you for your dutifulness, Rellos. But I won’t leave the Tower. And I’ll call you if I do. But, yes, do make sure there’s always a guard or two watching the Lady Lyanna.”

The man nodded and resumed his post. Jon walked down the corridors, praying he remembered the right way from his previous visit. And he did, he was happy to find out when he opened the door to Arya’s dancing room. His sister wasn’t there, but he doubted she would mind. So he picked up one of the wooden swords lying about and started hacking at the training dummy, venting his frustration and anxiety on the inanimate object. He lost track of time until a throat cleared.

“That is all anger and no skill.”

“Ser—” he started.

“Addam, I’m afraid is today’s reality,” the knight said, picking up another wooden sword. “Come on, Jon, I’ve heard good things about you and I haven’t had a good practice in nearly two decades. Show me what you’ve got.”

“I… I just…”

“Come on, boy. I’ll take it easy on you.” Jon chuckled, but stepped away from the dummy and took his position, charging. The man smiled and parried back and they were locked in a skilled dance for a few moments. “Good,” Addam said. “I suppose your title of knight isn’t empty after all. But there’s room for improvement. Come on, charge again, and elbow out this time.”

Jon smiled at the praise and modified his stance.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella woke up with a sense of utter tranquillity. Despite being very much aware that she and Ned were already married before the Old Gods, today would be the official and public ceremony for all to see and acknowledge, but she couldn’t find it within herself one sliver of a reason to be anxious.

She smiled as she turned in bed. Ned was often awake before her, but he always left a flower if he was going to leave the Tower, as a kind of good morning gesture. Although she was slightly upset that he had to leave on the morning of their wedding, she was too happy to really care. She brought the tulip, her favourite, up to her nose to breathe in its fresh smell and then her stomach decided it had been a bad idea.

Ella barely had time to reach for the chamber pot before last night’s supper returned. She heard the door opening, but was too busy to worry about it until her hair was pulled back and a cold cloth was pressed against her forehead. Then she heard another commotion and her brother’s gruffly voice cut through her heaving.

“Ash? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Everything is perfectly fine, Ser,” a woman’s voice that she recognised as Ayla’s replied. “You might want to go and let me handle this.”

“She is sick!” Addam insisted.

“No, she is not,” Ayla calmly replied. “I know what I’m about, my lord.”

“Get out, big brother,” Ella moaned.

Although he was clearly unwilling, Ella heard footsteps and the door again. She spent another few moments bent over the chamber pot until her stomach seemed settled and she sat back against the bed. Ayla gave her the now warm cloth to clean up and took the chamber pot away, getting another cloth and dipping it into the icy water left to wash as she returned. Ella gratefully put the cloth on her forehead, enjoyed its coldness.

“I’ll have the cook make you ginger biscuits to leave beside the bed, my lady,” Ayla said. “They’re the best thing to eat before even getting up at this stage.”

Ella froze. Her brain made sense of the words and the unpleasant experience she had just gone through made the truth dawn on her. She had felt this before. Once, eighteen years ago.

“You… you can’t mean… I…”

Ayla raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Was this the first time?” she asked and Ella nodded. “When was the last time you bled?”

Ella blinked. She had never been very regular but ever since the night Ned proposed she had started to keep count, just for the sake of wishful thinking. She must have lost track of the days in the madness of wedding preparations. She forced her memory and remembered her moon blood coming the day she and Ned had gone to the marketplace to look for Arya’s name day gift, over a moon before. Did she dare hope?

“I… I don’t… what if…”

The door burst open and Ned walked through, winded, his face twisted in a worried frown. “Your brother…” he panted. “What is… are you sick?”

Ayla smiled and stood up. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

Ella, still shocked, looked to her husband from her place on the floor. Ned seemed to relax at Ayla’s smile, but was still worried when he came to crouch in front of her. “What is it, love?”

She bit her lips, crying and smiling, and threw her arms around him.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Addam was the picture of unhappiness as he left his sister’s chambers, but he couldn’t deny her anything. He went down to the landing that led to the family bedchambers, where he had enough room to pace and was close enough to go back if he heard any commotions.

His anxiety was interrupted when Ned returned, whistling a tune as he climbed the steps. He stopped when he saw the anxious man scowling. “What happened?” the Lord of Winterfell demanded, a bad feeling sinking his previously good mood.

“I came to see if my sister was awake. But she was sick.”

“What?” Ned cried, panicked. “What do you mean by sick?”

“I mean she is sick. Lady Ayla is with her, but they kicked me out of the bloody room without telling me anything.”

Ned felt dread clenching his heart. _No, no, no, no, she can’t be sick. Not now, not when everything is finally working well for us!_ He climbed the remaining steps to his chambers in twos and burst through without knocking. Ayla’s easiness dismissed any immediate concerns that it was a grave infirmity, but he was certainly not expecting the words that came out of his wife’s mouth.

“Ned, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

His heart failed a beat. “What?” he asked dumbly.

Ella smiled and cupped his face with her hands. “We are having a child, my love.” Then her smile fell.

“No, no, no, no sadness,” he said, smiling and crying as well. “We will be happy and our child will feel how happy we are, how badly we’re expecting them and all will be well.”

“But—”

“No buts!” Ned insisted, and if he had been in a good mood before, his heart was bursting now. “All will be well, do you hear me?”

She smiled and nodded. They heard from afar the laughter and thundering footsteps announcing Sansa and Arya running over, so Ned helped Ella to her feet just as the door opened again and his daughters burst through.

“Ella! It’s time to get ready!” Sansa exclaimed.

Ned chuckled, turning her face to kiss her forehead. “I’ll see you at the Sept.”

“You most certainly will,” she replied, smiling.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella chuckled as Addam pulled on his collar again and he scowled at her as they rode down from the Red Keep in the carriage. “I prefer armour everyday to this puffy, fluffy monstrosity.”

“You can’t wear armour to a wedding, big brother. And I do hope you didn’t bring knives to the Sept either.”

“I haven’t,” he said, rolling his eyes at her scepticism. “I haven’t,” he insisted. “I talked to Rellos. He’ll have one of his men keep it for me so I can put it on for the feast.”

Ella snorted. “You’re helpless.”

“After that display with the not-funny Kingsguard, I’m not taking any chances. Rellos is staying in the Tower with a few of his and Jory’s best men, to make sure Lyanna is safe. That Ser Meryn, though… That man is a dishonour to the brotherhood.”

“He is,” Ella agreed as she waved. “He likes little girls. _Hurting_ little girls.”

The carriage halted for a few passing smallfolk and a little girl approached. Alyn pulled his horse closer, but Ella only smiled, taking the flower the girl was offering and adding it to her bouquet. “Thank you, dear, it’s lovely.”

The little girl smiled, seeming to be beyond happy that her simple gift was appreciated. Addam was clenching his fists, disgusted. “You’re not serious,” he said as the carriage resumed moving.

“I wish I weren’t. That orphanage Elia helped in Flea Bottom is now run by one of the orphans that were housed there back then. She told me that she’s been doing her best to take in all the girls, since Littlefinger has been taking them younger and younger to satisfy that monster’s predilections and they rarely last very long.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem for much longer,” he declared through clenched teeth.

“Do remember you can’t simply kill him, big brother, please.”

“Death would be a mercy for that creature. I’m going through your medicine cabinet later. If you don’t have what I want, I’m sure Oberyn will.”

“Oberyn will love to help, that is what.”

“Well, he won’t need to work hard to persuade me. After studying at the Citadel he probably knows of even better ways.”

“Alright, can we change the subject? We’re riding for my wedding.”

“You’re right little sister.” He chuckled. “Eighteen years later and here you are, pregnant again. Though this time Ned Stark is—”

“Addam!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll behave.”

Ella rolled her eyes, though she was beyond happy. She had missed her brother too much, the good and the annoying. The carriage finally stopped at the Sept and Addam climbed down, holding his hand out to help his sister out. “Ready?” he asked at the door.

Ella smiled softly. “Yes.”

A septon signalled for the doors to be opened and a minstrel started playing a soft melody. Ella saw hundreds of people standing at the main sanctuary, but she didn’t care about any of them. Unable to wipe the smile off her face, she let her brother lead her into the sanctuary and down the aisle to where Ned waited at the altar between the Father and the Mother.

“Hello again,” he said as she took his hand. She only smiled.

“You take good care of her, Lord Stark,” Addam said and Ned understood it was a plea from a loving brother, not a threat.

“I will. I promise.”

The High Septon started his preaching, and Ella tuned him out. Then the man went around the altar and wrapped their hands with a white length of silk and commanded: “Look upon each other and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…” both Ella and Ned spoke at the same time.

“I am hers and she is mine.”

“I am his and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” they finished together.

And with the white cloak embroidered with grey wolves placed around her shoulders, Ella could only think that all was right in the world.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “things we learn when writing” lesson of the day: a baby hawk is called an eyas!
> 
> Also, for those of you who are Brazilian / Portuguese speaking, due to sheer peer pressure, I've started translating this fic into Portuguese and the prologue is already up. You can check it out in my list of works under the name 'Rosas de Inverno' :)
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to toaquiprashippar, who convinced me to bring Arthur Dayne in way sooner than I intended and who is the biggest Ned/Ashara shipper I know of! Thanks honey, for this and for all the ideas we share :D


	36. 35 Past Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin I’d like to warn everyone that this chapter contains mention (though not depiction) of domestic abuse and implied rape. So please, be aware of trigger warnings.

**Chapter 35**

**Past Swords**

 

The ceremony at the Sept of Baelor was to be followed by a grand wedding breakfast, as befit the honour of the office Ned Stark held. Addam was enjoying it, having been away from Court all these years, but he was certainly _not_ enjoying the abhorrent lack of security and the altogether mess of the thing. Maybe he was just too used to Aerys’ paranoia, but Robert Baratheon only had one Kingsguard with him, none covering his son and heir, and he was drinking from the goblets he found on his way, not one single taster in sight. If anyone wanted to poison the King, this would be an easy opportunity. Though the man was more likely to keel over due to the amount of wine he ingested and not from anything extra put into it.

“I knew better than to ask your sister, but man am I glad to see you!”

Addam laughed and turned around, his keen senses automatically checking for listeners. “I missed you too, Oberyn.”

“You lot are harder to kill than that, I always knew it. Her story was even more especially stupid. The White Tower isn’t even the highest! Though there is a lovely, very nice concealed entrance down to a cove where a boat could conveniently be waiting.”

“You should stop sneaking around other people’s castles, you know.”

“You’ve been telling me this since we were what, seven?”

“Five.” Addam rolled his eyes.

“And I’m still ignoring you. So, where have you been?”

“In the middle of nowhere.”

“You wouldn’t run and hide, A—” the Prince started, earning a glare.

“Addam, my sister decided.”

“Well, if there is one lesson I learned, is that we should listen to our sisters.”

The knight laughed heartily. “We damn well should, my friend.”

“Anyway, you weren’t running and hiding, Addam, I know you. What were you waiting for? Revenge?”

“No. Justice.”

“I know a bit about that,” the Prince replied with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard that your nephew gave me something to laugh over in that regard. You certainly have enough reasons to be proud.”

Addam had to force himself not to frown. The casualness with which Oberyn had spoken implied that the man was firm in his belief. But he couldn’t remember anything Edric could have— oh. Right. Ella had said she hadn’t corrected Oberyn’s assumption that Jon was her son.

“My sister told me, not that it hasn’t come up since I arrived in the city. And we’ve sparred. Jon Starling truly is his father’s son. A skilled swordsman and a noble knight.”

“His mother’s blood, as far as I know,” Oberyn said with a shrug.

“Yes, his mother’s blood does have great influence in his skill,” he said with a nostalgic smile, remembering a fierce little she-wolf who wouldn’t give up.

Addam thought it was time to change the subject, though. It was not the time for Oberyn to know the truth, and explaining in detail what had happened all those years ago was not an endeavour to be undertaken with their current audience. Especially not with the Prince’s renowned temper.

“I was actually hoping to get your help on a little something I want to do,” he said, making the Prince turn back around to face him.

“A funny thing or an honourable thing, Ser Goody Two Shoes?”

The knight smiled. “A funny thing in the name of honour. I was hoping a man with eight daughters might be particularly keen to help. Other than the fact that you love a good mischief.”

“Oh-ho, this is going to be good, I know it already. So, who are we pranking?”

“Not that innocent, Oby. A prank implies something one can recover from.”

Oberyn opened a dangerous smile. “I’m liking this better and better. Do tell, old friend.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Upon his move to King’s Landing to become Master of Ships, Lord Manderly had decided that his eldest son, Wylis, would, as his heir, take over the ruling of White Harbour in his stead with the help and support from his younger brother, Wendel. Wylla, his youngest granddaughter, came to Court with her grandfather and being of an age and temperament with Arya, the two girls had become fast friends — in little more than a moon, they had already gotten into all sorts of trouble together and were driving their parents crazy. Lady Wynafryd had come over from Winterfell with the Stark host and would stay as Ella’s lady — both she and Rickon were happy they wouldn’t be parted with the new living arrangements.

As the Northern House that most resembled the South, the Manderlys were the perfect bridge between the two halves of the realm. The other, apparently, was plenty of drink in a feast. The southerners, initially wary of their northern visitors and their increasing presence at Court, were now warming up.

Littlefinger watched it all from a distance, unhappy. His manipulation of Lysa had given him control over the Vale — though with her paranoia and overprotectiveness, it would take a lot of work to convince her to join a war. A war, it seemed, he had failed to jump-start. He had plotted it down to every little detail: use Lysa to eliminate Jon Arryn and secure the Vale; have her influence her sister to convince Ned Stark to accept becoming Hand of the King; have Catelyn convince her simpleton husband to trust the Master of Coin; create rivalry between Lannisters and Starks; war. It was supposed to be as easy as getting the King drunk.

And it had all started so well! Lysa, the foolish girl in love, killed her husband and fled with her weakling son. Ned Stark had accepted the Handship, but by that time had already sent Catelyn back to Riverrun, so Littlefinger hadn’t had the chance to get the man under his thumb. Not even when she had come to King’s Landing was Catelyn able to be of any help. Oh, well, even with Ned Stark married to another woman, the former Lady Stark was still a source worth cultivating.

The Master of Ships, however, had been a terrible miscalculation. Stannis Baratheon had been in Petyr’s way simply for his love of duty and scorn for the game. He knew the King’s brother was involved with Jon Arryn, searching for the bastards, so his departure from the capital was a possibility he had accounted for and even cherished. The plan, however, had been to install someone manageable in his seat on the Council. Petyr had underestimated how troublesome having Ned Stark as Hand could be. Now, not only was he not in open war with the Lannisters — though that was certain to come — he was actually meddling. He was meddling in the Treasury, making Littlefinger have to cut back on the monthly fee he took, and he was also cutting back several ‘helping hands’ enraging all sort of city guards and merchants.

And now, the cherry upon the cake, he had jumped ahead and spoken directly with Robert about installing the fat mermaid as Master of Ships. Not only was the man annoyingly honourable, he was also staunchly loyal to House Stark, immune to any attempts of bribe and manipulation. Petyr didn’t like wild cards. And in his book, any card he couldn’t place in his hands — or pockets — was a wild card.

Jon Arryn had been gullible and Stannis was predictable in his inability to be of use. But neither was dangerous to Petyr’s plans. Ned Stark was dangerous and unpredictable and a fucking honourable northern fool. Petyr Baelish didn’t like dangers he couldn’t control. Something needed to be done about Ned Stark’s meddling, and soon!

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_“So now it begins,” Arthur said, unsheathing his sword._

_“No,” Ned contradicted, raising his own blade. “Now it ends.”_

_And then the swords began their song. Seven northerners against three knights of the Kingsguard. The blistering Dornish sun was rising in the sky and starting to flood the sky with its light. One northerner fell, then a second, then Ser Oswell. A third northerner, a fourth, and the fifth took Ser Gerold with him. Arthur managed to disarm Ned, but the sixth northerner, whom he had thought fallen as well, threw himself on his back, making him lose his balance. Ned regained his feet, reached for a sword and, in a whirl of movement, Arthur was the one disarmed and on his back._

_Then came the cry from inside the Tower, a cry of pure agony and filled with anguish. Ned looked in that direction, recognising his sister’s voice. Lyanna. He’d found her. Finally, after everything, he’d found her. He stepped in that direction, ignoring the Kingsguard until Arthur reached a hand and tripped him. Ned looked at him incredulous._

_“You’re disarmed, Ser Arthur. I have no intention of killing you. Just let me get to my sister.”_

_“You won't harm—” he coughed out the blood in his mouth._

_“You have my word I shall harm no one in this Tower so long as I can get to my sister.”_

_Arthur looked hard at the man. Ned Stark had the upper hand — he had a sword and even another man at his back while Arthur was on his knees on the dirt, bloodied, weaponless, and alone. And yet, the man had made no move to hurt him once it was clear he could reach his sister. This was not a man seeking violence, it was a brother seeking a beloved sister. A sentiment he understood all too well. He nodded and Ned ran inside._

_Arthur flopped to the ground on his back, his heart sinking with the heavy weight of failure. He had been tasked to protect his Princess and the royal child she carried. Rhaegar’s last heir now. Rhaegar’s last command. And he had failed. He had failed his Prince and his duty. Now Ned Stark would take his sister back and Robert Baratheon would get his ultimate revenge on the Dragon Prince: murder his babe, a child the man had anxiously expected and loved, and like that extinguish his line._

_“He won’t, you know,” Howland said, leaning heavily on a rock._

_“What?” Arthur asked, sitting up._

_“Believe it or not, ser, but we crannogmen have green dreams. I know what — or better, who is waiting in that Tower, who you’re here to protect. Think what you will of Lord Stark, but they have words they carry more seriously than their motto. ‘The pack survives’, they say. Whatever else happens, oaths, promises, even above honour, the pack survives. That boy is part of the pack.”_

_“A boy?” Arthur asked with a smile — when he and his brothers had left the Tower to make their stand, Lyanna had still been in labour._

_“Your Prince spoke of prophecies and a Great War to end all wars. I don’t have the gift of prophecy, but I see great things in that boy’s future. He’ll be both the best and the worst of his parents, but there’s greatness in his path.”_

_Arthur wasn’t sure if he believed in prophecies and fate. “I don’t know if I like the idea of a man not having freedom to choose his path and his honour.”_

_Howland smiled. “We all have choices, Ser Arthur. If one chooses a path at the fork of a road, he’ll go down that path. The gods may send you the paths, but you must choose the path you want to walk yourself, we all must.” He looked at the Tower. “You have to make your choice now, Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. If you go to King’s Landing you will be exiled or, more likely, killed for your part in the Princess’ alleged kidnapping. Who will protect that boy when he’s old enough to need that protection, then?”_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla was sitting quietly in the empty parlour, sewing. The children had gone riding and Lyanna was taking a nap, so the Tower was uncharacteristically silent. _Too_ silent in her opinion. She was sewing Benjen’s latest idea for their sigil when she heard footsteps.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Addam said.

She smiled. “Not at all my lord, I’m just sewing the quiet away.”

“An old habit if I recall,” he said, crossing to the window. Being here made him remember too much and worry too much.

“As is your window gazing.”

Addam chuckled. “Seventeen years and a lifetime later, and again here we are in a tower, sewing and window gazing.” They smiled and stayed in companionable silence for a while. “My sister told me the lady couldn’t have chosen a better woman to raise her son.”

Ayla smiled. “I did what I could.”

“Is it true? About the trout?”

“Yes.”

She saw the man’s jaw and fists clench. “Ella told me about what Catelyn Tully prayed for. But what did she _do_?”

“Nothing that deserves her inhabiting our thoughts any longer,” was all she said, aware that the man’s sense of justice would cause a problem they were already over and done with. Not to mention his guilt at not being there.

Addam was smart enough to know that whatever Catelyn Tully had done, it was bad enough that Ned Stark had reached his limits and sent her away, and both his sister and Ayla diverting the subject only made him sure that it was something he’d yell and curse the woman for. He had no more time to question, though, as Benjen came into the room.

“Addam, my lady wife,” he greeted. “I wondered if we could talk, Ayla.”

“I’ll leave you,” Addam said, crossing to the door. Then he turned back to the other man. “I hope you know how to behave towards your wife, Lord Stark. She’s been through enough.”

“I know,” Benjen said, offended. “She doesn’t need to fear anything from me.”

“Good. I do hope I don’t have to put my sword to use to defend the lady’s honour and safety,” Addam replied. Then his voice lost the warning tone and became threatening “I would hate to make it into a habit to drive swords into her husbands’ guts.”

Benjen turned to his wife as the other man left the room. What sort of dishonourable foolishness had her former husband done that he had gotten himself killed by Arthur Dayne? Ayla sighed, setting her sewing aside — now there would be no putting it off. Benjen pulled up a chair and sat in front of her, but didn’t rush her into talking.

“As you’ve deduced,” she started after a moment, “Dirk wasn’t the kind of man to allow his wife to work in a nobleman’s castle. I told him I’d go, but he said no and thought I would sit meekly by.”

“He was a fool, then. You are not meek,” Benjen said.

She smiled weakly. “So I went and spent a week there before I got a half-day leave to go into town. He was furious, of course, that I had both defied him and left and that he was alone with his cup and his dying father. That was the first time he was violent. I managed to get away — the neighbours heard and came to break us apart — and I ran back to the Tower. I was hoping to get down to the kitchens unseen and there no one would care about the bruised face of the scullery maid. As it was, however, the lady had taken Winter out for a ride and Addam was with her, and they both came across me on the road up to the Tower. I bet it wasn’t a pretty sight, a kitchen maid with a bruised face and a torn dress. The lady dismounted and came to me and offered help.” She smiled. “You know how tenacious she was, she insisted and insisted and then the two of them led me to the kitchen courtyard, telling the servants to call for the maester and make sure I was well taken care of. On the next morning, the butler came and told me the lady had demanded that I be promoted to her personal maid. And for a few moons all was well. Then my friend came up from the village and told me my good-father had died and they would have the funeral that afternoon. I couldn’t not go, and though the lady insisted I take a guard, I refused. No one in the village knew _who_ was the ‘nobleman’ in the Tower, best to leave it that way. Dirk wasn’t violent, not at first, but then when night fell he drunk again and I had to smash a vase against his head to run away. A moon later, I discovered I was pregnant, and the lady forbade me to go back.”

Ayla sighed — this was the painful part of the story. Benjen saw how disturbed she was and entwined their fingers, trying to give her strength. Ayla held onto his hands as if he was what was keeping her grounded in the here and now, rather than lost in the excruciating pain of her memories.

“We were paid not to say who was in the Tower, but no one was paid not to gossip about the servants. Somehow the story of my pregnancy got down to the village and Dirk, filled with drink, came to ‘take home his wife and child’. I didn’t want to go, and the lady had already said I could stay and then go with them when they returned home. Dirk wasn’t happy with that decision and tried to drag me out by force. The commotion was so big the knights came to see what was happening — by that time the lady was pregnant too, of course, and they were worried it was a threat. I managed to push him away from me, and in retaliation he pushed me back and I fell belly-first on the ground. He kicked me once, before Addam was there, pushing him away. I was in too much pain by then, I’d gone into labour, but later they told me Addam warned Dirk three times to go and never return. The stupid, stupid man decided to mock and threaten him, saying he would return with his crossbow and if I didn’t go with him he would kill me, my mistress, and everyone in the Tower. It was an empty threat, he would never be able to, but then he had threatened the lady, her child, and mocked me, all the while the other maids came to carry me inside, blood dripping down my thighs. Addam gutted him right there, and most rightly so. The maester managed to bring Rya out of me, but she was too small, born too early. She held on for three moons, the fierce little thing, and then she was gone too, too weak to fight the same fever that took the maester. I went down to the village, took a few personal things from the house and gave it to my friend, whose sons already managed the cheese farm. And then I went back to the Tower and left with Lord Stark, the little lord in my arms.”

She was crying then, and Benjen could only hold her tightly in his arms, letting her exorcise the sadness away, his own heart pulsing painfully.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon groaned as he hit the floor again.

“Terrible,” Addam said.

They were in Arya’s dancing room once more, sparring, but this time Jon was losing terribly indeed. “I don’t think today is a good day,” he said, standing back up.

“I see,” Addam said and snorted. “So when you are in the middle of a war and your enemy is closing in, will you just raise a white flag and ask kindly ‘can we postpone for tomorrow, I'm not feeling like it today’?”

Jon blushed. “Of course not.”

“Good. That would make you the laughing stock of the realm. A _dead_ laughing stock, mind you. Whatever troubles your mind, you have to put it aside when you pick up your sword. Otherwise, you’ll end up dead in a ditch.”

“I know, I know…”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jon bit his lip nervously. “I don’t…” He exhaled. “I'm just worried.”

“Lyanna or Daenerys?”

“Both. But Lya is safe, she’s with Sansa and Arya and Margaery inside the Tower.”

“That means Daenerys is outside right now. What is she doing?” Addam asked, worried. “This is probably the most dangerous place in the world for her.”

“I tried telling her that. But she wouldn’t listen.”

Addam snorted. “Well, stubbornness is part of the blood of the dragon. She is just like her brother.”

Jon smiled. “Aye, she is stubborn. She said she wanted to go to Flea Bottom. I tried to convince her to at least me go with her, but she wouldn’t have it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is stubborn and strong-willed,” Jon muttered bad-humouredly, sighing when he saw the other man’s raised eyebrow. “She wanted to do something other than being a idle lady.”

“As well she should.”

“I agree. But then she had this crazy idea of starting a cooking school to train cooks in exotic Essosi spices and recipes.”

“People would never hire foreign cooks,” Addam pointed out, putting his sword away and leaning against the table.”

“I know, which is why I told her I couldn’t let her sink so much time and money into it. She wasn’t pleased. Not in the least. Anyway, after a huge argument I managed to convince her that I don’t actually think that she isn't capable, just that the idea wasn’t the best. We were already thinking of organising the growing of the village, so I asked her if she’d like to undertake that, making sure that the village grew orderly and controlled to avoid this foul smell we have here. Now that we are here, she’s decided she’ll ‘go investigate the way the houses are built to see better what she shouldn’t be allowing’.”

“She’s passionate about her projects. I do hope you’ve sent guards with her, though.”

“Of course I did. Rellos wouldn’t have it any other way, too.”

“That’s a loyal man.” Addam smiled — he was very relieved Jon and Daenerys had such reliable security in place.

“He is. But sometimes no matter the amount of guards one has…”

Addam took a deep breath. “You couldn’t have avoided that spectacle in Court, no one could. And as a matter of fact, it was better that it was public, because everyone saw what you needed them to see — that Daenerys is not a threat to Robert Baratheon.”

“I suppose.” Jon shrugged, then looked down at his boots. “But what if the King suddenly decides she is?”

“He will call for her head,” Addam said simply. “And you will have two choices: obey your King or rise in rebellion.”

“But if she doesn’t do anything—!”

“If he calls for her head it doesn’t matter if it’s justified or not, you either deliver or you’re a rebel.”

“Then he will have to fight his way through to get to her,” Jon said resolutely and without hesitation.

Addam smiled proudly. “You better put that sword to good use then, boy. Come on, clear your head and charge. Anger means a sword through your belly and a clear head means your sword through your enemy’s.”

Jon chuckled, picking up the practice sword and taking up his position. This time, both he and Addam were panting when the match ended in a tie.

“Better,” the knight said.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys was flabbergasted with what she saw around her. Though Jon had been furious, she had insisted that she come alone — well, as alone as she could be with five guards on her back. Ella had helped her put on a brunette wig, as her silver hair would be too much of a giveaway and she didn’t want to risk meeting anyone still holding a grudge against the Mad King or having Robert Baratheon accuse her of incensing the smallfolk.

She had been initially furious when Jon had shut down her plan for the cooking school and had been livid when he brought up the idea of urbanising the village and the town. So she couldn’t invest in her idea, but rather had to deal with sewers and the like. It had been a huge fight, the biggest they had ever had, and Jon had even had the large sofa in his solar made up into a makeshift bed because they were both furious with the other. They had avoided each other for two days until Ayla had had enough, had dragged them both by their ears to their chambers, locked them inside and said they would come out only when they had resumed behaving like adults and not spoiled children.

After a good two hours of glowering in different directions, Jon had given up and tried to talk and she had decided to listen and then finally they had managed to listen to each other’s reasons. Daenerys understood the logic behind the decision to not follow the cooking school plan and Jon understood why Dany had been so angry in the first place. In the end, Daenerys started plotting out the best way to organise the village — after she and Jon spent the night making up in their bed.

But this morning she had insisted to see King's Landing and all the examples of what _not_ to do. Chamber pots being emptied into the streets; pigs, horses, even cows running freely and leaving their excrements all around; houses so close together the wind had no space to go around each of them to make air circulate. Well, she had good and nice ideas to talk to with their builder once she returned. Then a group of children ran through the dark and narrow streets, laughing and screaming, looking for the next bit of fun to be had. One of them nearly ran into her, apologised hastily and ran after his friends. She was watching them when a woman approached, bringing a load of laundry resting on her hip.

“Any of them trouble you, m’lady?” she asked.

Daenerys ordered Orys to stand down. “No, no, I'm just watching.”

“’m sorry, m’lady. We have no room for them to run inside, so they take to the streets and bothering people.”

“They weren’t a bother,” Dany insisted, remembering running through the courtyards or the godswood of Winterfell growing up.

The woman nodded, curtsied, and hitched the laundry on her hip, going back on her way. Dany smiled as she watched the children: they had crowded in an empty corner and were loudly pretending to be knights, swatting with wooden sticks at each other, the girls cheering them on.

“My lady, can we go?” Orys asked, anxiously looking around.

“Yes, yes, let’s return to the Tower. I’ve seen what I needed to see.”

She would make room for a park in the village, where the children could gather and play. Like this, they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way and would have more than enough room to let their imaginations run wild.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, I hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter :)  
> We got Ayla’s background which is something a lot of people have been requesting. Also, you can check in the image above the sigil for House Stark of Crystalia, made by the amazing @toaquiprashippar and based on the Starling sigil made by the great @Queen_Tyna. So kudos and love for these two lovely ladies and their contributions to my little story :D


	37. 36 The Kingsguard

**Chapter 36**

**The Kingsguard**

 

 _Oberyn is still the worst look out in the realm!_ Addam thought as he heard the loud voices and footsteps coming up the corridor, armour clanking step by step. He managed to hide behind one of the curtains in the main room of the White Sword Tower, so he was out of sight but still across the room from the concealed service passage that would allow him to escape. The tower was virtually unchanged and thankfully no one had desecrated his old room, but he couldn’t be caught here. How to explain that Lady Stark’s commoner brother not only knew the way across the Red Keep to the headquarters of the Kingsguard but also didn’t have any odd intentions?

Two sets of footsteps crossed the main room and disappeared through the staircase to the living quarters. A third set of footsteps was following the same path when a fourth man called out.

“Ser Jaime. A word if you please,” requested Ser Barristan. Addam closed his eyes and cursed mentally. That was the tone the elderly knight used to scold one of them and he really wasn’t up to hearing the latest of the Kingslayer’s misdeeds.

“Can I help you with something, Ser Barristan?” Jaime asked.

“You can. Get your act together, Ser Jaime. It was the third day in a row you were late, not to mention the patrol you simply skipped a fortnight ago. I don’t know what’s wrong and unless it’s something regarding the Kingsguard or the King, I don’t want to know. But you have responsibilities.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again, Ser.”

“You’ve said that before, Ser Jaime. Don’t make me warn you again.”

A moment of silence went by until Jaime’s footsteps could be heard walking up to the living quarters. Ser Barristan, on the other hand, didn’t move and Addam wanted to curse. If the man had kept to his old habits, he would take out his sword, sit by the fireplace and clean and polish the blade, a ritual that usually lasted until supper. _Ella is going to kill me if I’m late!_ He heard the Lord Commander’s footsteps come closer to where he was hiding and even held his breath, trying to be as immobile as possible.

“I’ve got my sword pointed at you. Come out with your hands up or I’ll strike you down where you stand.”

Addam cursed inwardly. His feet must have been badly hidden — _damn it, I’m out of practice!_ He only had daggers, and though he could try and get a good throw, the last thing he wanted was to hurt Barristan. And while the Lord Commander was less likely to kill him on sight, it would also cause more trouble than it was worth. Besides, according to Ella, he was already in possession of a much bigger secret. So he reached for the bracelet on his wrist, untying it before pulling the curtain away.

Barristan frowned, though his sword was pointed. “You… you are Lady Stark’s brother,” the older man said. Addam raised his head and pulled back his hood, letting his face completely out in the open. The other man gasped, his sword faltering and lowering. “It can’t… Others take me! Arthur?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jaime leaned on his door to close it, exhaling heavily, trying to dispel his weariness into the room. It didn’t work very well. His mood was too dark and his thoughts too muddled, had been for what seemed like years. Well, it was certainly over a year now since he had begun questioning every single choice he had ever made.

After the Rebellion, for years he had put on a façade, an arrogant front and a devil-may-care attitude, in order to be able to survive through the whispers of ‘Kingslayer’. He had two regrets about that night: stabbing Aerys on his back and not managing to get to Elia and the children on time. Rhaegar had left a last command upon his departure and though Jaime had known the Dragon Prince had been dead for a fortnight, he had had every intention of fulfilling that command. _I'm leaving half of my family under your care, Ser Jaime. Keep them safe._

But Jaime had failed. He had believed his father capable of honour, but the Sack of King's Landing showed that nothing was above power for Tywin Lannister, not even honour and innocent lives. Jaime had broken his oath and killed Aerys, his king, to save the whole city, all the while his father had ordered the murder of children to suit his ambitions. It was a disconcerting thought.

Then Ned Stark had found him, still dazed and shocked, sitting upon the throne and condemned him right there. Jaime couldn’t really tell what had driven him to sit on the throne — perhaps he was unwilling to leave it empty so the Mad King could somehow regain his feet and reach for it again, like the cockroach he was; perhaps he was simply tired; but all Jaime’s troubled mind could process in that moment was that he was keeping it safe for Rhaegar. For the rightful king, the king that would be _good_ for his people. A king that would never be king. _The king that never was_ , the bards called him when Robert wasn’t listening.

None of this, of course, was reasonable explanation for Ned Stark, the paragon of virtue and honour, the hypocrite who judged but had sired a bastard. Jaime had debated yelling at the man about the wildfire, but by then the throne room was filling and it would only have caused a panic. And like that he had become the Kingslayer, the Oath Breaker, and so many others.

Jaime had managed to endure it all, ignore it all for all these years. It was weary, and tiresome, but he could ignore it. Until the fateful trip north. Seeing Daenerys Targaryen — Starling! Daenerys _Starling_! — Seeing her had hit him like a ton of bricks. Not for the mad man who had sired her, that was a man who had needed to die, but for her mother and brother. She was the spitting image of Rhaella, the gentle queen with kind eyes that always had a smile for the son of a dear friend. That afternoon, while Jaime was sneaking a nap in, he had had nightmares about his Queen: yelling and crying, sobbing as the monster she had been forced to marry raped and bruised her. Jaime still thought that was his greatest failure while wearing the white cloak. Then that evening, Cersei and Joffrey had schemed to subject Rhaella’s daughter to exactly the same thing Jaime had tried and tried but could never save her from. His nightmares that night had been terrible.

The trip to the Blessed Island hadn’t helped. The nightmares had still been plaguing him when Bran Stark had walked in on him and Cersei. To protect his family, Jaime had had to push the boy to a likely death. Well, to kill him had always been the intent. That the boy survived was a miracle of the northern tree gods, a proof of resilience from their stubborn blood.

But still, even knowing that the boy was alive and now was even walking again, guilt ate away at him. He had pushed an innocent child to likely death for pure vanity. Because he couldn’t give up his love for Cersei. Suffice to say he had been having bloody nightmares every night since then. _What kind of man have I become?_ Jaime had asked himself. He had grown up on stories of knights and honour and protecting the innocent. He had been knighted by Arthur Dayne and had sworn to protect the weak, to follow in the footsteps of his hero and mentor, the greatest of Aerys’ Kingsguards. If the Sword of the Morning could see him, Jaime was sure he would be greatly disappointed.

And how disappointed would Rhaegar be? Jaime had failed his last command, had let the Mountain slaughter his wife and children in cold blood for the sake of a power grab. Jaime had stabbed his father on the back. _The winds of change will roar through the capital when I come back, Ser Jaime_ , Rhaegar had said. Jaime had hoped against hope that meant the Prince of Dragonstone would finally stop putting it off and overthrow his father. But Rhaegar had never returned. Rhaegar had had his chest caved in by Robert’s war hammer and it had only been because the newly proclaimed King had been wounded that Jon Arryn had managed to have his body brought to King's Landing in respect, rather than float downriver. And it had been only the horrifying manner of Elia’s, Rhaenys’, and Aegon’s deaths that had driven Eddard Stark to rave and rant about honour and respect for others, even the enemy, and made him insist loudly and publicly on burying his sister’s murderer and rapist with full Targaryen honours. There was something to be admired about Ned Stark’s honour after all — how could Robert refuse without being seen as petty amidst all the chaos?

Jaime had smiled when Cersei had told him that Daenerys had given birth. Lady Lyanna Starling. Rhaella’s granddaughter. The former Queen had loved her children so much that it was very easy to imagine that she would have been ecstatic with a granddaughter. Not that, had Rhaella lived, had House Targaryen not been butchered, Daenerys would have married a northern bastard. _She would probably have married Rhaegar’s son_ , Jaime thought, _and brought pure Targaryen blood back to the royal line after Rhaegar had had to marry outside the family_.

But House Targaryen had been butchered, dethroned, and impoverished. Daenerys was the last scion, forced by the triumphant rebel to marry a bastard and bear his children. Children that would belong to House Starling and the blood of the dragon would dwindle and dwindle until it would be meaningless. And Rhaella would only be remembered as the Mad King’s poor wife, weak and meaningless, incapable of bearing a daughter to marry her eldest son. What a terrible, terrible fate for so lovely a queen.

Jaime, like the entire Court, had watched the pathetic display that was the presentation of the Starling girl. Robert had, as usual, cared nothing for what his actions might cause or look like. Fucking Trant had nearly started a war with the North right there, threatening guests in good faith who had merely been following the King’s command. And Jaime Lannister was no fool — he was not deceived by the show and dance Daenerys and the bastard put on, convincing Robert that she was meek and submissive and completely under her husband’s thumb. Jaime had seen up close Rhaella deal with her brother, he could see a woman putting on a show of subservience merely to appeal to a man’s vanity. Daenerys Starling was a true dragon, like Rhaegar had been, and Jaime had seen it for himself at the Midnight Fortress. He had also seen how her bastard husband looked at her: rather than belittle her, Jon Starling seemed enchanted and entranced by her strength. Robert had thought he was shaming the last Targaryen, forcing her to wed a bastard and be forever tainted by the shame of his birth. Daenerys had laughed last on this joke, and the King was too blind to see it — Jon Starling was the capital’s new darling, an honourable knight, and girls were sighing all around at the loss of such a superb bachelor (no one seemed to acknowledge the fact that before his knighting, before he was given a title and lands, no one would ever have considered to even wish him good morning, let alone think of a potential alliance).

What did work in Robert’s favour was that Daenerys was, like her mother before her, a fierce defender of her family. She would protect her husband — a husband she loved — and her daughter above everything, even a potential wish for the throne. And Jon Starling was as much of a honourable northern fool as his father, he lacked the power-hunger that afflicted those in King's Landing.

All in all, Jaime felt lost. He felt guilty and alone, had felt like that even when Cersei had been here and he had been able to seek solace in her arms. But even his sister, his soul mate, his partner, couldn’t understand the turmoil going on inside him. She had scoffed when Jaime had voiced his guilt over Bran Stark, saying it had been necessary, ‘and what is a wolf pup to us’? Jaime had tried to argue, but she had come closer, kissed him, and he had soon forgotten what he was feeling inside in favour of the pleasure her body provided him with.

But now that even that one escape from his mind was gone, Jaime was completely lost, unmoored, he had no point of reference. _What kind of a man am I? What kind of a knight can I claim to be?_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon walked into his chambers and frowned with the amount of boxes littering the space beside the door.

“Dany?” he called. “Are you here?”

“Back here,” she called from the vanity, removing her brunette wig.

“What’s all this?”

“Hum? Oh, the boxes?” She shook out her head, letting her silver hair cascade down, loose. “A few things I bought to help with the village construction. Plus, Jon, you won't believe it, there was this little store that sold books, and they had a few from Old Valyria! I only looked it over, but it’s very interesting! I'm sure Sam will love to take them after I'm done with them.”

Jon frowned. “You bought Valyrian books?” he asked, concerned.

“Yes,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “But I know what you’re going to say, that it would look terrible if I were buying anything to do with my Valyrian heritage. I was in disguise when I went to the store, and that was two days ago, so they don’t know it was me, and I looked over all the books, so they can't track me to the Valyrian ones. Then Lady Olenna and Margaery went back today and bought them. Too big a conspiracy to worry Robert Baratheon over a few books.”

“You and Margaery have become really good friends,” he said with a smile.

“Well, soon enough she’ll marry Robb and we’ll officially be sisters.” She looked at him, putting her brush aside. “What is it? You look like you have something to say.”

“The owner of the biggest jewellery store in the city approached me this morning. Wanting to make a partnership with the jewellery and especially the winter diamond.”

Dany raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were keeping that for ourselves.”

“Aye. But he had a really good proposal — at least it seemed like that on face value — and he wants to make yearly jewellery presentations here in the capital. Your idea of the jewellery show back in the tourney was genius, it’s how we got our best revenue, so I think it’s worth thinking about.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I would think about it and go over the numbers once I returned to the Blessed Island.”

“Well, so I…”

Jon passed her a scroll. “I’ll talk to Sam when we get back, but the jewellery show was your idea and you organised it all. So, do you mind?”

Dany smiled. “Of course not.” She started to unroll the scroll, but Jon stopped her.

“We still have a few days before leaving and then a fortnight to get home. Plenty of time.”

She laughed as he pulled her from the chair and they crossed to the bed amidst kisses and clumsy hands pulling on clothes.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Addam was smiling as he watched Barristan pace the length of his room. They had retired there for privacy, as anyone could walk in the main room and that was a conversation they couldn’t have overheard.

“So you never died?” the Lord Commander asked again.

“No. It was all a ruse.” Addam held back an eye roll — if he _had_ died, how would he be able to be sitting here?

“Why?”

“Because I’d never serve Robert Baratheon and because we couldn’t very well tell him that I wasn’t keeping a hostage secure, that I was keeping _Princess_ Lyanna safe while she carried Rhaegar’s heir, the rightful _king_.”

Barristan cocked his head to the side, conceding the point. “But why go into hiding and sudden— oh! Oh, oh, oh! You’re _Lady Stark’s brother_! How did I… how did I not recognise her? Come to it, how did I not recognise _you_ before?”

“She dyed her hair and it’s been seventeen years. And this,” Addam lifted his wrist to show the bracelet he had tied back up, “is a glamour. People see me but can't connect my face to my name. I took it off when I pulled the curtains away.”

“So you came back for your sister’s wedding?”

“I missed her.” Addam shrugged. “Besides, I'm tired of hiding like a rat.”

Barristan exhaled, coming to sit down. “You are the last person I would have ever thought would go into hiding.”

He took a deep breath. “Seventeen years ago there would have been nothing for me to do but die. But now… now I can at least protect him from afar.”

Barristan nodded, not needing clarification on who was the ‘him’. “Rhaegar would be thankful.”

“I did it for him. For him and for her.”

“He said she was quite the woman,” Barristan recalled with a smile. “He was the picture of a fool in love, making plans and saying he would finally put an end to the madness and bring her and their child home and they would bring peace back to the Kingdoms.”

“He _was_ a fool in love.” Addam snorted. “Though I guess it was easy to love her. She was beautiful and wilful and if anyone could bring Rhaegar out of his melancholy, she could. He would start brooding, then she’d come into the room and damn if his smile wouldn’t grow blinding.” He sighed then. “I told him several times they needed to make their marriage known to stop the bloody Rebellion or at least to take the Stark support from the usurper. But Rhaegar said he couldn’t disrespect his father like that, even if he was planning to take the throne, and the situation with Dorne required delicate handling.”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong. But we both know Elia’s position.”

“Elia needed to be in Dorne to talk to Doran and stop Oberyn from doing something stupid, much like Brandon Stark did. It was what Rhaegar wanted, but the Mad King wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Too much went wrong back then,” Barristan lamented. “When I came to after the battle… Rhaegar had made me promise to keep his family safe. By the time I was recovered enough to be capable of any reasonable thought, Varys told me Ned Stark should be getting to the Tower already. There was nothing to do. I bent the knee to the Iron Throne, again, and promised fealty to the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and Robert Baratheon believed I meant him.”

“That was cleverly thought out,” Addam complimented.

“It was a moment of desperation, more like. When Ned Stark came back… the moment he stepped off the boat, Robert only had eyes for the box with the Princess’ bones, but I saw the nurse with the baby. I knew who that child was. And then… then I knew staying and serving Robert would ensure I knew of any plots.” Barristan chuckled. “Then the next day Robert decreed the betrothal and I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“I remember when we got to Essos, when we heard the news. I could feel my ribs cracking I was laughing so hard.”

“Robert allowed the seed of his ruin and he doesn’t even know.”

“He did,” Addam agreed. “But Ned Stark won't allow it. He won't tell him the truth because he can't be caught in the crossfire.”

“I can understand that. Lord Stark swore fealty to his friend, a friend he rose in rebellion to sit on the throne. I can understand his reluctance to break this oath.”

“His oath to his family comes first.”

“It does. But then, do we have what we need to stage a restoration right now? Without drawing tens of thousands into a bloody war like the one we went through?”

Addam sighed. “I suppose not.”

“Robert will screw up in an unfixable way soon enough.”

“Or his body will rebel against the amount of wine he drinks every day.”

Barristan chuckled at the play of words. “Either way, we won't have to wait long.”

“I suppose not.”

“What will you do now?” the Lord Commander asked. “Will you go back to where you were? Will you—”

“I don’t know…” Addam replied. They were silent for a few moments.

“What were you even doing here?”

He smiled. “A little something,” he replied earning himself an annoyed glare. “What do you know of Trant’s escapades?”

Barristan frowned in disgust. “More than I cared to know. I tried reprimanding him, but I had no proof and the Queen told me to shut up.”

“Well, he won't do it again,” Addam said, very happy with himself. He chuckled at the other’s raised eyebrow.

“Please tell me you didn’t cut it off. You know I’ll have to investigate that.

Addam laughed openly. “No, I didn’t. Though I was tempted, I knew it would be too public and I had heard of a better way and I got some ingenious help. Trant still has his toy, he just can’t make it rise to the occasion.”

Barristan was shocked, but then laughed as the implication registered. “How did you manage that?”

“Little potion I found.” Addam shrugged. “I’ve come to learn that sometimes death is too easy an escape. After what Ella told me… that fucker deserves to suffer for what he’s done. I hope to come back and have his head for his crimes, but for now let him seethe in his misery.”

“Well, for this crime I do believe such punishment is adequate.”

But Addam was already thinking of something else. “Hey, can I borrow the Book of Brothers?”

Barristan sighed. “What are you planning now, Arthur?”

He smiled. “A gamble.”

The Lord Commander rolled his eyes. “If you weren’t so good with those, I would actually be annoyed.”

Barristan got the book from its shelf as Addam wrote a hasty note. “Can you make it disappear by the morning?” he asked and Barristan raised an eyebrow as he read, but smiled when he saw the page the other man was opening.

“Yes, I rather think I can. That _is_ a good gamble, by the way. And I have something to help.” He rummaged through the back of a bottom drawer, bringing out a ring and holding it out.

Addam smiled, picking it up. “I thought I had lost this on the road.”

“I found it in Rhaegar’s chambers the morning you left. Aerys was yelling that he hadn’t given him leave to go, and demanding his presence at Court.”

“Yes, we had to leave in a rush before the King called the Court to assemble.” Addam nodded, shaking his smile away, looking around for a white candle. Barristan provided it as well, so he could sign the message with his personal seal. “Can you create a diversion?”

“You still remember your way through the servant’s passages?”

Addam rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I’m offended you’re asking.”

Later that evening, when Jaime had returned to his room after supper, he found the Book of Brothers opened on top of his desk. He frowned and went to look. It was opened on his own page. _Ser Jaime of House Lannister_. Next to it, there was a piece of parchment under a weight. He picked it up and paled immediately at the seal: the sword and falling star of House Dayne, but on a white field, recalling the white cloak of the Kingsguard. It was Arthur Dayne’s personal seal.

 

_There is always room for improvement._

 

The message was short, simple, and to the point, just like Arthur. And it was something he loved saying: _It matters not what people say of my skill, Jaime, it matters not that I'm the Sword of the Morning. When it comes to swordplay, there is always room for improvement._

Jaime felt an even bigger twitch of guilt. That night his sleep was fitful and restless. When he woke up in the morning, both the book and the parchment were gone, but the message stayed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Addam laughed from his corner of the room, where he was watching Jon and Robb take turns sparring with Arya. His heart had failed a beat when he’d first met the girl, and every interaction so far had only shown that Arya Stark was as much a She-Wolf of Winterfell as her aunt had been, from their physical appearance to the little scorning glare they threw your way if they thought you were being stupid.

The match ended and Jon came to sit by him as Robb took his place — unlike his younger brother, the heir to the North still thought Arya was just a little girl who should be playing with dolls.

“She is going to destroy him,” Addam said as Jon took a seat.

“It won't be so bad as…” Jon started but trailed off when Arya, in a flurry of movement, disarmed Robb — all in less than a minute.

The older man laughed. “Very nice, wolf girl!” Addam praised. “Stop underestimating your opponent, Robb. She’ll have you on your back and groaning in pain next.” Robb grumbled something under his breath but picked up his training sword, getting into position again. Addam chuckled. “He really is going to meet the floor soon if he doesn’t take her seriously.”

“And that amuses you?” Jon asked, curious. “Most southerners think of women as dainty flowers.”

Addam snorted, then laughed loudly when Robb’s sword flew from his hand again. “Yes, that amuses me,” he answered once he’d recovered. “Women might be more delicate than we brute men in some aspects, but when they want to be vicious they are quite capable. Besides, I know better than to doubt a daughter of Winterfell.”

“You mean aunt Lyanna?” Jon asked as they watched Arya dance away from Robb faster than he could follow. “Father said you were with her when… when she died.”

Addam swallowed dry. This was dangerous territory. “I was. Fierce little thing, she was.”

“Father never speaks of her,” Jon lamented. “I think it hurts him too much. He once told Daenerys that Rhaegar had not kidnapped nor raped her, but refused to say anything else.”

Adam sighed. _Bloody stubborn northern fool_ , he thought. “In Harrenhall, they called her the Rose of Winterfell, the most beautiful woman in the entire realm. But her real beauty was underneath. She was strong and stubborn and wilful and, man, could she get what she wanted when she wanted it. She never accepted to be told what to do and her definition of a pastime was to go on the back of her horse and gallop around faster than the wind.”

“Winter,” Jon said with a smile, getting a weird look from the man. “The name of her mare, it was Winter. Father brought her back to Winterfell.”

“Is she still alive?”

“No. She died on the night before we left, actually. Old age, though our master of horse said he had always thought she was too stubborn to die.”

“Like mistress, like mare, I suppose.”

Jon chuckled. “She was the mother of my own steed,” he commented off-handily and Addam froze as he watched the sparring, looking back to Jon. “What? What’s with the look?”

“Nothing. So, you like horses?”

Jon nodded. “I’m a decent tamer, I suppose. Winterstorm is as stubborn as his mother.”

“Why do you Starks feel the need to name everything ‘winter’?” Addam asked with an eye roll.

“Ser Barristan said pretty much the same thing at the tourney.” Jon chuckled. “I was ten, the mare was Winter and the stud was Storm, it was obvious enough.”

Addam choked on the sip of iced tea he was drinking. “I'm fine, I'm fine,” he reassured the other three. “Come on, wolf girl, put your big brother through his paces.” _The fucking irony!_ he thought.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, actually,” Jon said, making Addam turn his attention from the past and back to him. “What will you do now? Will you stay here, will you go back to where you were?”

Addam sighed. “I can't stay in King's Landing, not while Robert is king. Not even for my sister. I don’t… I don’t know what I’ll do, actually, or where I’ll go. Maybe a trip around Dorne, revisit some familiar places.”

“I just…” Jon bit his lip, nervous. “Feel free to say no, but you’d be welcome at the Midnight Fortress if you wanted to come.”

Addam felt his heart skip a beat. “What?”

“I just… I mean… I’ve learnt a lot from you these past few days and, as you said, there’s always room for improvement. So… if you want… or not… you can always come and visit. It’s an open invi—”

“I think I’d rather like that, actually,” Addam said, forcing himself to keep his tears at bay. “Otherwise you’ll never learn to keep your damned elbow out,” he needled and Jon only laughed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> So, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter :D
> 
> Now, exams week is finally over (yaaaaay!!) so I'm stealing exams revision week as a vacation out of town. The next chapter is underway, but regardless of how much writing I'll be doing in my week off school and work, I'll be on the road next Saturday and Sunday is Mother's Day, so though I hope to post them, mamma's got priority :D So don't expect anything next Saturday and hope for the best next Sunday. Though if I can sit down to write definitely by Monday it will be up :) if I can't sit down to write, we might have a week off.
> 
> Thank you for the love and support always! And don't forget to comment and leave kudos, I absolutely love replying to comments.


	38. 37 A Crowd of People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their return home, the Midnight Fortress hosts a party and receives very interesting guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please beware that this chapter chapter includes graphic displays of violence, including — but not limited to — against a pregnant woman. There is not, however, domestic violence.
> 
> Also, this chapter starts to depict several time jumps that will continue throughout the next few chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 37**

**A Crowd of People**

 

They were having their last family breakfast when Addam, giving in to his sister’s insistence and also knowing there would be no avoiding this argument for much longer, revealed his intended destination. Ned nearly choked on the bite of bread he’d been eating and turned to his good-brother with a dark glare.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he spoke through his teeth.

“And what is the impediment?” Addam asked in provocation. He knew why Ned was against it — because someone with a full disclosure of the truth would be very close, and in a trusting position of Jon and Daenerys. Unlike Benjen, Ned knew Addam wouldn’t take orders all too quietly.

Ella threw him an annoyed look. “Brother, are you sure that’s what you want?”

But Ned and Addam were locked in an intense glare war and he didn’t reply.

“I don’t understand what is the problem,” Sansa said.

“Nor I,” Arya added. “Isn’t Addam good with his sword? He can join Jon’s guard.”

The knight smiled, holding back a laugh. Ned’s face turned even sourer and he turned to his wife. “What do you think of this?” he asked.

Ella sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be looking forward to the conversation they’d have on the matter once they were alone. “I think that it is my brother’s decision where he wants to go. And if Jon and Daenerys have no problem with it...”

“I’m the one who invited him,” Jon said. “And I don’t see the problem.”

“Your father wouldn’t see a problem either, once he knew of the invitation,” Addam needled.

Ned bristled, standing up and throwing his napkin on his seat. “Excuse me. I have Council business to attend to.” And he stomped out of the room.

Ella threw her brother a levelling glare.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The voyage back North had been uneventful and this morning Jon was breathing a huge sigh of relief as he watched his castle draw itself against the clear blue sky as they sailed ever closer. Daenerys joined him on the empty corner he had claimed for himself on the deck of the _Lady Daenerys_.

“Home sweet home,” she said, smiling as he enveloped her in his arms.

“Finally!” Jon exclaimed. “I couldn’t get you and Lyanna away from that snake’s nest fast enough.”

She smiled bigger, relishing his embrace and the chill of the northern wind rather than the suffocating southern clammy heat. “Well, I agree. I’m much happier to be back home, our little family with our friends.” She smirked. “All four of us.”

Jon frowned. “Four? What do you—” he froze, pushing her back a bit to look at her gleeful purple eyes. “Are you… are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Daenerys only smiled. “I’m saying that since I’m planning the whole of the village, you can take care of the nursery. Besides, you did such a good job the first time around.”

Jon’s smile grew slowly as he processed the news. Then it opened so wide his cheeks hurt later on, and he picked her up and twirled her in the air, laughing loudly. Addam, who had been showing Lyanna the fish swimming by the boat in the quarterdeck, turned around with the commotion, then rolled his eyes.

“Young fools in love, little pup, that’s what they are, young fools in love. It must run in the family!”

Lyanna laughed, clapping and turning her attention back to the waves, completely oblivious to her parents’ joy.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella reclined on the chaise, glad that she was far enough along in her pregnancy that her terrible morning sickness was finally abating — at four moons, her bump was growing too obvious and the first thing the new maester Ned had requested of the Citadel (and only accepted after Maester Luwin’s approval) did was to forbid corsets. Ned came back into the room and she frowned — he was supposed to be going to the Small Council already. But he had a huge smile and a raven scroll in his hands.

“Message from the Midnight Fortress, from Benjen actually!” he said passing it over.

 

 

_My dear brother,_

_It is my pleasure to announce that my wife, the Lady Ayla, carries my child. We are thrilled with the news, of course, and at the very auspicious time it seems to be. Lady Starling fares well and Lady Lyanna grows up like a true lady of northern blood, like her namesake. I hope Lady Stark is also well._

_All our love,_

_Lord Benjen of House Stark, Lord of Crystalia_

 

“Oh, my!” Ella exclaimed. “So many babies at once!”

Ned smiled. “So they’ll all have someone to play with.”

“Well, Lyanna gets to reign supreme over them,” she said, teasing, and he only rolled his eyes.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys was sitting at her desk in her solar, playing with a model of the village, trying to plot the best way to make the water from the aqueduct get there. She fidgeted on her seat — her child was particularly active today, even if Jon was cross that he couldn’t feel it yet. Though at five moons along, it wouldn’t take much longer.

“Mamma!” Lyanna called. “Up, mamma, up!”

Dany smiled. Lyanna had been asking to be lifted up to look at the shelf for days now, ever since she had heard that her name day present was there. And even though she couldn’t yet grasp the idea of _what_ a name day was, she was capable of understanding it was today and that she would get the present today. She wasn’t, however, very keen on accepting that she had to wait.

“We’ll wait for papa, darling,” she said. “He’s coming.”

Lyanna frowned, upset. “Mamma!” she whined.

“Wait, Lya.” Daenerys gave her a censoring look. “Don’t you want to come here help mamma?”

Lyanna huffed, but had already learnt that while a smile convinced her father, it didn’t work on her mother. She used the sofa to stand up, reaching for her doll that had been sitting there, and stayed up, leaning on the sofa for support as she played. A few moments later, Jon came into the room.

“How are my two girls this morning?” he asked, having woken up at dawn to go get Arya and Sansa as they disembarked.

“Papa!” Lyanna squealed. She turned around, stumbling a bit on her legs, but used the sofa as support to stand.

Jon bit his lip and held back the instinct to rush to her and take her into his arms before she fell. Instead, he crouched down a few steps away. “Come on, Lya, come give papa a kiss.”

Lyanna furrowed her brows in concentration and looked to her father, who was smiling at her, and tentatively let go of her hold on the sofa, lifting one little foot and stepping forward. Dany stood from her chair, biting her lower lip to keep in the same overprotective instinct to prevent any hurts. Lyanna took one stumbling step, then another, then a third, and then enough that she fell in Jon’s arms, giggling.

“Now that’s my girl!” he said, kissing her and making her squeal in delight. Dany was halfway to crying, cheering as well, and Lyanna smiled, very proud of herself.

From that day on, Lyanna obviously only walked everywhere. Jon was half proud and half despaired once she was sure enough on her feet to start running.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ayla asked, walking into the room the maid had led her to and finding her husband inside. She froze, looking around.

“This is a name day gift,” Benjen said. “What do you think?”

Even if her emotions weren’t running crazy because of her pregnancy — though now at six moons along the upheaval was less frequent — she was sure she would’ve cried anyway.

“This is… Benjen! You just…”

He brought over the little wolf he had carved and Ayla sniffled even more as she took the toy. “I figured,” he said, “that I couldn’t let my own nephew outdo me in the nursery building business.”

She chuckled. “It’s beautiful, love.”

“Come here,” he called, leading her to where the crib was.

“Did you… did you make this yourself?” she asked.

“Under the carpenter’s watchful eyes, since I couldn’t risk to have our child sleeping in an unsafe place.”

She smiled, softly passing her fingertips over the motif of wolves carved into the soft wood. “I love it. It’s wonderful.”

“Come,” he called softly, leading to where the chest of drawers was. There was a little tableau on top of it, depicting a dark night sky with the dark brown trees with dark green leaves of the Wolfswood. In a corner of the picture, there was a big white moon, all carved in the same soft dark wood. He placed the wooden wolf in the scene. “Sam was telling me something interesting.”

“He always has something interesting to say,” she commented, still admiring the little scene.

Benjen smiled. “So, apparently in some Yi-Ti or other Essosi dialect, I'm not exactly sure right now, Ayla means moonlight,” he said and she looked up to him, surprised.

“I had no idea!”

“Sam read it in a book.” Benjen chuckled. “So it seems this old wolf was always destined to howl at the moon.”

She smiled, her tears falling in abandon now. Throwing her arms around him and hugging him as tight as their child between them would allow, Ayla kissed her husband, thanking the gods once again for her fortune.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The sound of loud laughter and children playing was permeating the late morning air. It was the day of the northern equinox and they were throwing a huge party at the castle courtyard to boost the farmers’ morale as they returned to the fields to sow the seeds. Jon was with Sam and Benjen in a cluster of men, drinking ale and talking. Rellos, Orys, and Ghost were keeping guard around Lyanna as she had fun with other little girls, playing in the fountain under Ayla’s watch and getting everything around wet. Daenerys was sitting in a chair Jon had ordered brought out, their child too heavy for her to spend the whole day on her feet though there was still over a moon to go. Addam was standing next to her, tense, his hand on the hilt of his sword — Jon hadn’t even stopped to think about the notion that commoners needed their lord’s permission to carry weapons, waving it off with a simple “well, but he’s not really a commoner, is he?”

“You are too tense, Addam,” Daenerys said. “Relax, this is a party.”

“Exactly why I _can't_ relax, my lady. People get drunk and stupid at parties. Not to mention that the mess and the crowd are perfect opportunities to hide someone with ill intentions.”

Dany knew there would be no convincing the man otherwise, not that his argument didn’t have merit, so she turned her attention back to the party. A while later, she got restless again. “Addam, I’d like to go for a walk, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He smiled kindly. “I’d never mind, my lady.” He held out his right hand, his left automatically going for the long dagger he kept on his other hip, helping her up from the chair. Then he offered his left arm, freeing his sword hand, and they walked away into the throng of people. Lady turned her head and stood up from where she was properly sitting, falling into step on Dany’s other side.

They walked halfway around the courtyard, stopping by the stands along the way to taste all manner of delicacies — Westerosi or foreign. Addam was quite anxious about it, and some stallholders noticed and tasted the things themselves before offering them out. Lady suddenly stiffened, turning around in the direction of the fountain. Ghost was already standing to attention and that prompted Rellos to reach for Lyanna. She was unhappy, unwillingly to leave the fun at the water, but Ayla soothed her and she came annoyed. Jon had also noticed something amiss when Nymeria stiffened at his side, her hackle up, then bounded out to join Ghost and Lady at the fountain.

Addam freed his arm from Daenerys’, one hand in each hilt, and another guard stepped next to them. “Take the Lady back inside, I’ll go make sure the little—” he screamed out when the fake guard’s dagger buried itself on his arm, away from the protection of the boiled leather armour.

The assassin pulled another dagger out, going straight to the now unprotected Daenerys, who had frozen in shock, wrapping both hands protectively around her middle. He smiled a sick, twisted smile as he lowered his arm, burrowing his dagger on the woman’s left shoulder. He pulled the dagger out, raising it up for another attack, but Addam forced his wounded right arm to unsheathe his sword and threw it to his left hand, stopping the dagger as it descended again towards Dany. The other man cursed, taking his sword out as well, but even wounded and left-handed Addam was not easy to go through. He was struggling, it was clear, blood gushing down his right arm even as he parried and charged with his left, but he still landed some nice blows.

The courtyard descended into chaos, people running everywhere. Jon tried to reach them, but Daenerys and Addam were across from him and he had to fight through the throng of people trying to run away. He reached the fountain in the middle as Lady growled at an attacker Orys was taking down, Ghost and Nymeria having just downed three of them. “Take Lady Lyanna upstairs and lock up the castle!” he yelled. Rellos was already biting out orders and Ayla was cradling a scared Lyanna against her as Orys started to pull her away.

“Papa! Papa!” Lyanna cried, reaching for him.

“It’s going to be fine, little love, papa just needs to go get mamma, alright? Aunt Ayla will take you to your room. Lady, Nymeria, with them! Ghost to me!”

But Ghost was already running in the direction of Daenerys and Addam. Lady stepped even closer to Ayla and Nymeria growled, ever defiant, and followed after the white direwolf. Giving Lyanna one last look, checking she was halfway to the entrance door as Benjen joined them, Jon cursed under his breath as he pushed people aside to get to his wife.

Everything had become a confused and messy blur to Daenerys as she lay on her back in the pavement. Her left arm was hanging useless, her shoulder exploding in burning pain, and she cradled her expanded womb with her right hand, praying, crying in joy when she felt her child still kicking. She heard the noises, the people screaming, Addam’s grunts as he fought the assassin, but little made sense. All she could focus on was the feeling of her baby kicking against her hand, the feeling of life as hers seemed to fade away.

Addam yelled as the catspaw pulled out the dagger he had buried in his arm. While the blade had been blocking most of the blood flow, now it was running out with gusto, weakening him severely. He lifted his sword, blocking another attack, but his knee buckled under the strain and he was sure it was over. And this opponent was nowhere as honourable as Ned Stark had been — this assassin would kill him without hesitation and proceed to kill Daenerys and the child she carried, he wouldn’t be content with peacefully reaching his sister.

And then white blurred through his already blurred vision and the assassin was gone. Addam turned to where Daenerys was and dragged himself to her side, clinging to his sword even as he heard Ghost tear the assassin’s throat out. “Daenerys? Dany? Can you hear me?”

She somehow found the strength to grab his hand with her wounded arm. “The baby is still kicking,” she sighed out in relief.

Addam cursed under his breath, thanking whatever gods were listening. “Hold on, princess, just hold on.”

“The baby first, Addam. Please. Ask Jon… tell him the baby first, then me. If they can only save one of us… save the baby.”

 _This child matters much more than I do, Arthur. And I'm not talking about the fucking crown_ , his memory threw at him.

“Promise me, Addam!” Daenerys pleaded.

 _Promise me, Arthur!_ echoed in his head.

“Addam, please! As your lady I command you!”

_I’m commanding you as your Princess! As the wife of your Prince, the Prince you swore fealty to!_

“I promise, Princess,” he vowed, just as he had vowed eighteen years ago to a different princess, about a different royal child.

And said royal child appeared through the crowd, sheathing his sword when he saw that Ghost had taken care of the threat and Nymeria was keeping an eye out for others. Jon knelt next to his wife, holding her up in his arms.

“Dany! Dany, please! Where’s the Maester!”

“Jon,” she whispered with weaning strength, “Jon, save the baby first.”

“I'm saving both of you.”

Daenerys held his hand, pulling it to where the baby was kicking and kicking, her womb already cramping up in labour. “The baby first. Promise me.”

“Dany… I can’t… I can't choose between you.”

“You’re not. I am. It’s my life, Jon, and if that is the price I have to pay for our child’s, that’s not a high price.”

“It is for me.”

“I'm a mother, Jon. My life is nothing compared to our child’s. Promise me. If this is my last wish, promise me it will come true.”

Jon nodded though he was crying in despair already. One of the stallholders brought his counter to serve as a makeshift stretcher, a few men came to carry it inside, another hauled Addam to his feet, and what was left of the crowd parted to allow them to cross the way to the castle, Ghost and Nymeria growling at any stragglers. Ghost was particularly fearsome, outside of his usual calm posture, his white fur stained dark red.

Starling guards met them halfway, making sure the courtyard was secure, and carried Daenerys all the way up to the family wing, where Maester Wolkan was already preparing the birthing room. Sam sat Addam in his room, working with the Maester’s two apprentices to stop the bleeding and stitch up the wound, trying to help the man.

Nymeria came and sat in front of the door, guarding it with two guards, just as Lady was in Lyanna’s nursery room with Rellos, Orys, and three others. Ghost stood by the door of the room they had brought Daenerys to with five guards. But all the security in the world was of little use now.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Benjen helped Ayla to the armchair in their room, seeing she was beginning to lose it. “Love, I need you to take a deep breath,” he pleaded. “Come on, please, for me. Breathe in, then breathe out.”

“I… she’s going to—” Ayla mumbled.

“She is not!” Benjen said. “Come on love, breathe.”

“She is going to die, she or the baby.”

“We can’t think like that,” he insisted. “Maester Wolkan is there, everything will be fine.”

“You don’t know that. I… I have… I have to be there. I… I need to help!”

“You’re helping no one if you’re like this. Come on, breathe.”

But Ayla was overwhelmed by her own past. Her baby, her Rya, dying from inside her after Dirk’s attack, never even seeing her first name day. Princess Lyanna falling down the stairs, dying to give life to her son. Daenerys, bleeding and crying as she was carried past them… the images blurred and flickered past her eyes, a confusing whirl of images in which no scenario had everyone alive.

“Ayla, come on, love, I need you to breathe!” She barely heard Benjen speaking to her, her mind confused and overflowing with pain and panic. “Love, listen to me, take a deep breath, come on!”

But Ayla couldn’t. All she could process was pain and sorrow and death. Until Benjen took her hand and placed it on top of her bump, where their child was kicking back against it. _Life_ , each kick said. Life, not death. She looked up to her husband, forcing herself to copy his breathing, in and out slowly, and bit-by-bit her mind eased, her panic subsided. She broke down, sobbing, but no longer in panic. Moments later, there was a knock on the door.

“What is it?” Benjen demanded, not letting go of her.

A guard walked in, his fist clenching around his sword and his face scrunched up in anxiety. “Word from the harbour, milord. A visitor to see Lord Starling. They want to know if they should allow him upriver or not. They already got word to close the harbour.”

“Who is it?” Benjen asked.

“Tyrion Lannister.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Addam groaned in pain as Sam finished the suture.

“You sure you don’t want milk of the poppy?” he asked again.

“No,” Addam snapped out. “It’ll knock me out and make me useless.”

“You can't fight with your arm like this!” Sam said, horrified.

“I think you mean I _shouldn’t_ , and I agree with you. Though I will if I have to. But if I take milk of the poppy I'm a useless piece of meat sleeping on a bed.”

“Addam, you took a dagger in your right arm — it cut through skin and muscle and it even reached the bone. I just think—” Sam started but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Addam tensed, but relaxed when he saw that Nymeria reacted by stepping aside. He frowned when Benjen walked in. “What is it?” he asked.

“Are you very wounded?”

“I’m still up for a fight if I need to be.”

Benjen nodded. “We got a visitor and I think it’s a very strange coincidence that it happened to be today.”

“Who is it and where is he?” the knight inquired.

“He’s on his way upriver escorted by two guards and Rellos is putting together another party to pick him up at the pier,” Benjen replied.

“Good, I have a while to wash off the blood.”

“And put on a sling,” Sam insisted, not cowering at the other’s glare. “Look, I know this is very likely not the first knife wound you take in your line of work. But exactly _because_ you know how wounds are healed, I have to insist that you do not let your sword arm be forever damaged.”

“Look, Tarly—”

“No, Ser, you look. You’re the best sword in this entire castle, what means you’re Jon and Dany’s best hope against a band of assassins. So you are healing properly.”

“Fine.” Addam exhaled — for a cowardly fellow, Samwell Tarly was quite brave when it came to protecting his loved ones. “I know you’re right. I’ll put my sword for my left hand until it’s healed.” Sam rolled his eyes, but counted it as a victory anyway. “What else is happening, Stark? What did the Maester say? And the little lady?”

“Lyanna is fine,” Benjen replied. “Still scared and impressed, especially because she hasn’t seen Jon and Dany herself. Lady was the one who was clean, so she’s the one in the nursery, but Ghost is still in full protective mode, therefore we can’t clean him, which I guess would calm Lya more. But her nurse is with her and now that Ayla’s calmed down I asked her to go there as well.”

“Fuck,” Addam cursed. “She’ll be in a state, after what happened to her and—”

“Aye, she was quite anxious,” Benjen cut in, noticing Sam’s interest in the conversation.

“And Daenerys?”

“Maester is with them. No news yet.”

There was another knock in the door and Doreah came in. “Lady Starling is in labour,” she said in a shaking voice. “Maester Wolkan says that the baby is early but everything looks to be fine. Irri and a midwife from the village are helping.”

“What about Lady Starling herself?” Addam asked.

“The Maester is tending to her shoulder as the midwife tends to the babe. But the Lady needs to push, so she’s… she’s losing too much blood.”

“Where is Lord Starling?” Benjen asked.

“With the Lady. Says he won't leave her side for anything other than Lady Lyanna desperately needing him. He said the castle is under Lord Stark’s authority for now, but if they find anyone that hasn’t been put down yet he will sentence them himself.”

Benjen nodded. “Tell him the Lady Lyanna is fine, Lady and Lady Stark are with her, and that we’ll manage the castle for now.”

Doreah nodded and turned to leave. “Girl,” Addam called. “Find someone to clean Nymeria.” The direwolf threw him a dirty glare. “You should go to the nursery. But without frightening the little lady.”

The wolf growled slightly, but accepted, following Doreah out of the room. “That gives more protection to Lyanna and takes them out of Lannister’s sight,” Benjen said.

“Two birds, one stone,” Addam said, rolling his eyes when Sam brought over a salve and the sling. “Wait, did you just say _Lannister_?”

“Tyrion Lannister, the Imp,” Benjen explained. “He is our visitor. Harbour says he came here with one sell sword, no Lannister banners or red coats. I don’t like it.”

“This stinks,” Addam looking at the salve Sam was spreading on his arm. “And I mean Lannister being here as well. Why is he here and why today?”

“We’ll know once he gets here. You just focus on getting that arm settled to get better,” Benjen said. “I’ll check with Rellos to see if they’ve managed to get anyone else. And I’ll send for you when Lannister docks at the pier.”

He smiled as the knight only grumbled, leaving the room and letting Sam handle a cranky patient.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

If Jon had thought Daenerys’ screams had been bad the day Lyanna was born he had either forgotten them or this was just… it had no comparison. Rosey, the midwife, was speaking smoothly trying to deliver the child safely, but Daenerys was in agony.

“Come now, milady, I can see the little one’s head. Come, one big push now.”

“You can do it, love,” Jon said in her ear as he sat behind her, supporting her as best he could, his voice thick with tears. “You hear me? One big push and our baby’s head is out.”

Daenerys was beyond the point of being able to make conversation, but the words registered somewhere in her brain. She braced herself, holding on to Jon’s hand and pushing with all her strength at the next contraction, feeling Maester Wolkan follow the movement, putting pressure on her bleeding shoulder.

“Very good, milady, very good. One more and it’s all over. One more, milady.”

Dany breathed in and out, resting against Jon as she waited for the next contraction. When it hit, she put every last ounce of strength into it, screaming out the blur of pain. And then Rosey took the child, Irri cut the cord, and the baby’s cries filled the room.

“I need her lying down now, my lord,” Maester Wolkan said. “Go see to your child, I’ve got Lady Starling.”

Jon didn’t want to go. Dany was pale, paler than usual, as if all of her blood had seeped away from the wound in her shoulder and by expelling the baby.

“Milord, I need you to take the child, I need to tend to the lady,” Rosey said, seeing on the Maester’s face that neither of them wanted Jon in there for the next part.

“But I… I need… I need to be with her.”

“My lord, you have my word that I will call you back in,” Maester Wolkan said in a calm and reassuring voice, “but right now I need you to take the child and go outside.”

“Go, Jon,” Dany croaked in a wavering voice. “Let me give our baby a hello kiss and go introduce Lyanna.”

Jon trembled as he carefully laid her down on her back, arranging her soft silver curls to be away from her left shoulder. He used the basin and cloth Irri brought over to wash his hands and then went to Rosey. The midwife smiled softly, holding out the child.

“Here’s your son, milord.”

Jon felt more tears filling his eyes as he reached out to cradle the baby boy in his arms. “I have a son,” he whispered, almost unbelieving after the mess the day had become. He came back to the bed, letting Dany kiss their son’s forehead, and then the midwife was pulling on his shoulder.

“You do, milord, a handsome baby boy, ten fingers and ten toes. And he’d love to meet his sister, I'm sure.”

Rosey ushered the stunned father outside. When the door closed behind him, Jon couldn’t help but feel as if he had just lost his wife.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger, but is it really a cliffhanger ;)
> 
> The vacation-inspired muse was on the side of fast writing, and so I managed to finish the chapter. However, I had a full week and today is a full day, so I couldn't reply to comments, what I'll do over the coming week as I can. 
> 
> So keep commenting and give me fuel to finish the next chapter on time while I have a week worth of school and work to catch up to :)


	39. 38 A Cloud of Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack on the Midnight Fortress, Lyanna meets her little brother while Dany's fate hangs in the balance. The game of politics gets more complicated than ever as Jon discovers just who wants his family dead and, in Winterfell, Benjen's raven in received amidst their own bad news.

**Chapter 38**

**A Cloud of Ash**

 

The way to the nursery was one torturous step after the other. Orys nodded to Jon when he was near, opening the door. Lyanna cried out, getting to her feet and running across the room, yelling “papa!” and throwing herself against his legs. Ayla gasped, seeing the bundle of blankets in his arms.

“Hey, Lya, come here,” Jon called softly, managing to bring Lyanna to stand by him as he sat in the rocking chair. She looked to the squirming bundle in her father’s arms and frowned. “Remember when we told you there was a baby in mamma’s tummy?”

“Mamma?”

“Mamma is sleeping, sweet,” Ayla said, crouching down next to the girl. “She will wake up soon.”

“Mamma! Papa I mamma!”

“I’ll take you to her soon, little love. But don’t you want to meet your little brother?” Lyanna looked at the boy and frowned again. “He was the baby in mamma’s tummy, but now he is out here with us.”

She cocked her head to the side, seeming confused. Ayla took her little hand and lifted it to the baby’s feet, which were kicking. She gasped, seeming to understand that these were the little feet that had been kicking her for a while. “Bae mamma!”

“Aye, little love, this is your little brother. Do you want to say hello?” Jon asked.

Lyanna looked at the baby again. “Boh?”

“Aye, he’s your brother.”

“I boh!” she said, stepping on Jon’s foot for the height and kissing the baby’s cheek.

He gurgled and blinked his eyes opened. Dark eyes, but they seemed grey and not purple like Lyanna’s had been at birth. Jon smiled even as the tears started to rush out again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Tyrion had been thinking foul words and cursing mentally ever since their boat had docked at the harbour to a handful of very irritated guards. The time it took to ‘see if the castle was open for visitors’ was only one more indication that he was, in fact, late, and that his message had not been received. Not that he hadn’t expected his father and sister would ground the raven he had sent.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Bronn muttered under his breath when they saw the group of ten guards waiting at the lake pier.

“They’re too honourable to kill me on sight,” Tyrion said quietly. “If they’ve allowed me this far they’ll at least allow me to speak.”

The sellsword grumbled but said nothing else. Once they were on the deck, their boat pushed back, returning with their guards and another four back down river so that only six remained to escort them.

“Good afternoon, milord,” Wex, leader of the group said. “If your man would be kind enough to relinquish his weapons, we shall escort you up to the Fortress.”

“Good afternoon!” Tyrion said. “Bronn is merely a hired sword to protect me in my journey, he—”

“Then if you won’t be offended with the bluntness, Lord Tyrion,” Wex interrupted, “you can pay him and he can be on the next boat downriver with no ill feelings from House Starling or he can relinquish his weapons and you can both accompany us to the Fortress.”

Tyrion saw Bronn clench his jaw and consider his options. But then the sellsword removed his sword and three daggers, giving it to the nearest guard. Wex nodded and started the walk through the village up to the castle. He was led to the Audience Hall, every moment making him more anxious as he noticed the increased security. Benjen was sitting in the Lord’s chair and a man stood next to him — given the sling on his right arm, whatever had happened, he had been in the thick of it.

“Lord Tyrion,” Benjen called, “to what do we owe your unannounced and unexpected visit?”

“From what I see, to a late warning,” Tyrion replied. “What happened? Where is Lord Starling?”

“That is none of your concern,” Benjen said. “What kind of warning?”

“A late warning means you knew this was going to happen,” Addam said. “And if you travelled all the way from Casterly Rock without sending a raven it’s because you didn’t part in amicably terms.”

Tyrion clenched his jaw. “Let’s just say it was a… _heated_ argument. And I have no proof. And, just a moment, who are you?”

“Who ordered the attack, Lannister?” Benjen asked.

“Who would murder innocents for power?” Addam asked with an eye roll.

“Well, my father wanted to send an assassin after Robb Stark, since his fight now is with Ned Stark. But my sister… my sister can’t accept how the Starlings are becoming so popular in the capital.”

Addam narrowed his eyes. “You’re a Lannister. Do you really want us to believe that you’ve betrayed your family and crossed half the realm to warn us?”

“I am a Lannister, but I do have boundaries. Sending an assassin after an innocent green boy just because his father did something to annoy you is preposterous, as is sending a band of assassins after a pregnant woman just because her husband discovered mines on his lands.”

But the knight wasn’t convinced. “What else are they planning? What else did they do that made you turn your back on them? I can imagine that in the past two decades House Lannister did all manner of foul acts, so what changed?”

“I’m saying I can’t abide for frivolous murder,” Tyrion insisted. “Who do you think you are to question my motives?”

“You just told me your father intends to send an assassin after my nephew because my good-brother, Ned Stark, displeased him. I’m sorry if I’m having trouble believing your tale. It must be a side effect of the knife your sister’s assassin buried in my arm.”

“Enough!” Benjen called. “I can see you came here in good faith, Lord Tyrion, and your man has agreed to surrender his weapons. I’ll have you escorted to guest chambers and once Lord Starling is available he can give his judgement.” He nodded to Wex and Tyrion begrudgingly followed.

“You can’t believe him!” Addam exclaimed after the doors closed behind the group.

“I think there’s more to the story. I don’t believe for a moment that he betrayed his family and came here to warn us due to a good heart and a guilty conscience. I believe that he did not like the plan to send assassins after Robb and Daenerys, but I do doubt that alone would be enough for him to betray his family. Besides, did you see the man with him?”

“Yes,” Addam answered with pursed lips. “I know that sort. That’s a sellsword. And don’t fool yourself, he might have surrendered his sword, but he has at least one blade hidden on him.”

“The guards…”

Addam threw him an annoyed look. “Sellswords don’t have honour and their bond is their pay. If Tyrion Lannister is paying, he is killing. So the dwarf either hasn’t paid him yet or he’s been promised more gold, otherwise that man would never have risked coming into an ostensible hostile fortress he didn’t know how to escape from.”

Benjen exhaled in frustration. “This day only keeps getting worse.”

“Word from upstairs, milord,” a guard said, coming in. “Lord Starling is in the nursery introducing the little lady to her baby brother. Lady Stark said to proceed as usual.”

Both men smiled. “It just got better,” Addam said.

“Aye, it certainly did,” Benjen agreed. “Send word to throw the fireworks, then, and toll the bells.” The guarded nodded and left to carry out his orders. “Come on, Lannister can stew on his reasons for a while, we have a grand-nephew to meet.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Though Jon wasn’t keen on relinquishing his hold on his son, for pure fear he’d vanish into thin air after the madness of the day, it didn’t take long for the boy to start crying in hunger. Mary, Lyanna’s nurse, had taken the initiative to send for a wet-nurse and after Ayla was sufficiently convinced the woman was trustworthy and healthy, she allowed her in. Since Lyanna was down for her nap, Jon summoned Benjen, Addam, Sam, and Rellos to his solar.

“What do we know so far?” he demanded, pacing the length of the room.

The other four exchanged a look before Rellos started his report. “There were six men at the fountain, reaching for Lady Lyanna — Orys and I took three and Ghost and Nymeria handled the other three, so all six are dead. The guards handled another four that were moving to you, my lord, two are dead already, one is very wounded and the Maester’s assistants don’t think he’ll wake up to say anything; but the fourth is tied up in the dungeons — he’s tried to kill himself upon capture, but Wex stopped him. But all that seems it was a ruse, since the only one who actually got close to a target was the one who went for Lady Starling.”

“He was disguised as a guard,” Addam added. “I saw the direwolves moving to Lyanna so I thought that was where the threat was. When the guard came I told him to take Lady Starling inside as I went to the fountain and then he attacked me.”

Jon stopped his pacing and looked up, seeming to notice the sling for the first time. “Are you—?”

“I'm fine,” Addam cut in. “Just a flesh wound.” He glared at Sam when it seemed as if he’d interject. “I let my guard down and Daenerys got injured because of me. I fai—”

“You did not fail,” Jon cut in. “Everyone thought the threat was on Lyanna, everyone moved to that position. They did it on purpose, to scramble the guard — according to Rellos the numbers went for me and Lyanna, the lord and the heiress, so the guard would run for us and leave Daenerys’ protection lacking. That one was disguised as a guard exactly so he could get close enough to attack without numbers. That means whoever ordered the attack wasn’t interested in hurting Lyanna and I, they didn’t want to harm House Starling as a whole, they only wanted to kill Daenerys. Though I guess they wouldn’t have minded if all three of us were killed.”

Addam wasn’t appeased, but Benjen started talking. “We’ve had a visitor,” he announced. “Tyrion Lannister.” Jon frowned deeply. “He said he sent a raven, but came here to warn you anyway that his father wanted to send an assassin for Robb and his sister wanted Daenerys dead.”

Jon clenched his jaw and fists, but his temper got the best of him and he exploded, punching a nearby vase. Addam reached for his hand, holding him back. “Reign it in, this is not the place, nor the time, to vent.”

Jon wrenched his arm free and paced for a few moments. “Robb. Someone needs to…”

“I already sent a message to Winterfell,” Benjen said. “Sent a fast raven to get there a day sooner.”

“Cersei Lannister hired a band of assassins to come into my home and murder my pregnant wife.”

“According to the Imp, she even knew of the pregnancy,” Benjen added.

Jon’s breathing was hard now and he was shaking in fury. “Where is he?”

“Guest chambers.”

“You’re not talking to him like this,” Addam counselled. “You’re too upset, no good will come from it. And whatever the dwarf’s motives are, he came here in peace to warn you.”

Jon was about to argue when the door opened and Irri came in. “Maester said he did what he could.”

“And?” Jon demanded, fear gripping his heart.

“It depends on the Lady’s strength now.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the earth grumbled and when they looked out the window to the darkening sky, they saw the fire exploding upwards from the top of the volcano.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robb winced as Maester Luwin changed the bandage on his leg. “How much longer until that heals?” he asked.

The Maester smiled. “The wound is healing nicely. It was luck that it was but a scratch.”

“Luck and Grey Wind,” Theon said. “I doubt the freaking assassin would have imagined you slept with a direwolf at the foot of your bed.”

Robb chuckled. “What about the guards? What did Hallis find?”

“Other than the three dead in the family wing, another two by the armoury,” the Maester replied. There was a knock on the door and one of his assistants came in, delivering a raven scroll. “From the Midnight Fortress, my lord. Though it’s Lord Benjen’s seal.”

Robb frowned and took it. “They got information that someone sent an assassin for me.”

“Five days too late for that,” Theon said.

Robb glared at him. “A group also attacked them. Jon and Lyanna are fine, but one of the assassins managed to hurt Daenerys. Uncle Benjen says he’ll send another raven as soon as they know more, but that he needed to warn me as soon as possible,” he finished reading. “This is dated two days ago.”

“A fast raven, then,” Maester Luwin said.

Robb punched the table. “First Bran is thrown out of the window of a tower, then someone sends an assassin after him, now assassins come for me, Jon, and Dany, all at once. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“My lord, I caution patience,” Maester Luwin said. “Lord Stark must be getting your raven about the attack by now, if he hasn’t already. We should wait for his word.”

“Fine.” Robb clenched his jaw. “But please get me parchment and a quill, maester. I want to write to my brother.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned frowned as the squire left the room after delivering the raven scroll. He unrolled it and his heart skipped a beat.

“What?” Arya asked.

“Is Robb ill, Father?” Sansa asked.

“Girls, Rickon, finish breaking your fast. Robb is fine, everyone in Winterfell is. Ella, we must talk.” He held out his hand to help his wife up — she was so heavy with child now the maester said the baby could come any day. “Robb is fine,” he said once they were in his solar.

Ella gave him an annoyed look. “Stop coddling me, Ned. What is it?”

He sighed. “An assassin tried to kill him in his sleep. Grey Wind was at the foot of his bed and stopped it.”

She gasped but before she could have any further reaction there was a frantic flurry of wings and Dusk flew into the room. The bird was caked with soot, as if he had flown through a fire. Her heart started racing in her chest as the hawk sagged on the table — it looked like he had flown as fast as he could the entire way. Ned frowned but she couldn’t even care about his confusion: if the hawk had ignored his training to never show up in front of strangers, it must be important.

“Seven Hells!” she exclaimed once she started reading — Addam hadn’t bothered to use their invisible ink or even the encrypted language.

“What? What is it?”

“A band of assassins attacked the Midnight Fortress,” she said. “Jon and Lyanna are fine, so is… oh heavens!”

“What?” Ned panicked. “What about Daenerys?”

“She was injured, but they managed to deliver the baby. Your grandson.” She smiled and he begun to smile as well, but then his memory took him back to a room smelling of blood and winter roses and fear froze him. “So far the baby seems very well, and the wet-nurse says his hunger is normal for an early baby. The Maester says it’s all down to Daenerys’ strength now. But the… this can't be right…”

“What is it?”

“Tyrion Lannister is there and the volcano erupted.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“YOU DID WHAT?” Tywin Lannister exclaimed furiously.

Cersei lifted her eyes from her nails, annoyed. “Father, I hesitate to remind you that I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and I won't have you using this tone with me.”

He slammed his fist on the desk. “Well, then, start behaving like a queen and I shall not need to use the tone! Cersei, are you mad?”

“You said so yourself…”

“Think, Cersei, think! This was always going to be a risky gamble — and I was vocally against sending someone against the Targaryen girl — but after your stunt with Tyrion?”

“That little—”

“He is your brother, Cersei!”

“He is a little monster, a disease! He was going to betray us!”

“He was going to betray us after you threatened him!” Tywin snapped exasperatedly. “We are a family, we don’t threaten each other. But the fact is that he escaped and no one has been able to track him farther away than the Golden Tooth. If he’s crossed the border, if he’s north of Moat Cailin, he _is_ going to tell someone. Whether he goes to Winterfell or to the Blessed Island it doesn’t matter, he will tell someone and can you imagine—”

“Robert wouldn’t dare—”

“Dare what, Cersei? Exile you? He already has!”

“He would still not dare ask for my head! Father, you finance…”

“I finance nothing, Cersei!” he snapped. Then Tywin sighed. “How much money did you spend in this little murder mission of yours?”

“We’re Lannisters, Father, that hardly—”

“It does matter. It matters when our mines are running dry.”

Cersei was shocked into silence. She had not been expecting that.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The door to the dungeon opened in a loud and echoing groan. Jon walked in, flanked by Addam and Benjen, Rellos hovering anxiously by, as well as six guards. The prisoner was tied to a chair, in a manner he couldn’t move in any way.

“Ungag him,” Jon ordered, his voice hard and cold, icy cold. “You’ve been caught in an attempt to murder me, my wife, and my daughter. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked after one of the guards followed the command.

“Fuck ya!” the man spat out in a hoarse voice. “Yer gon ha’ me kill’ anyway. Kill me and be done wi’ it.”

“You’re right, I will execute you. I’ll do it myself — in the North, our way is the old way,” Jon said. “And though it will bring me no pleasure, I can either make it easy for you, if you cooperate, or I can make it very painful.”

The assassin snorted. “And they say ya fuckin’ northerners are honourable fools!”

Jon opened a dangerous smile that made a chill go down Addam’s spine. “I am honourable. But you and your friends walked into my castle to murder me, my daughter, and my pregnant wife. You didn’t do it yourselves, you did it because someone was paying you to. Tell me who and your death will be painless. Tell me who wants my family dead and I’ll even send money to any wife or child or mother you have.”

The man visibly tempted. “And why shouda believe ya?”

“You’re going to die anyway,” Jon said. “I will have your head this afternoon for the crime you’ve committed. It’s your choice _how_ it happens. But you won’t be here to see tomorrow regardless of speaking or not.”

“Me mum live in the village,” the man confessed after a moment debating the choices laid out before him. “I’ve three sisters and a baby brother. Me mum is sick, they say she dies in a few days. That’s why I too’ the job.”

Jon turned to Benjen. “Send for the woman and take her to Maester Wolkan. Bring the children to work in the castle.”

The assassin swallowed, but smiled. Then he cleared his throat. “Allar, the one who went for the Lady, he was the leader. ‘e told us ‘twas big money, and for ‘ow mu’ they were offerin’ ea’ o’ us, it really was. But I saw ‘im getting’ some letter — he coul’ read, d’ya know ‘ow fuckin’ expensive is an assassin that reads? Any’ow, he got some letter, and I can’t read but I saw them sigil. Red lion from Casterly Rock that one. Me father work in them mines, I know that one. And when we came to the castle Allar said ‘honour to the Queen’. Don’ need mu’ brain.”

Jon was shaking in anger, his blood thumping loudly in his ears. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Your family will be taken care of. Thank you.” And he stormed out of the room, telling Rellos to prepare the courtyard because the execution would happen in an hour. He had already ruined three dummies and one training sword by the time Addam joined him in the training yard.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Fire. That was what was all around her, fire. Columns of fire erecting from the fire laden ground and rising to an infinite dark ceiling without end. She was dreaming the dragon dream again, and the dragon was right there with her. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. The blood that had gushed out of her ruined shoulder or the blood she had expelled together with her son, that Dany did not know, but it was hers, she was sure._

_What she also did know was that the dragon was her friend. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce._

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon looked outside the window to the still blackened sky. It had been four days since the volcano had erupted, and though some lava had melted the icy top and oozed down to the Narrow Sea, nothing had descended towards the inhabited lands. The sea had bubbled and evaporated, intensifying the salt air ten fold, but the only bad consequence was that the whole southern part of the island was covered by smoke and an ash cloud that was expanding eastward towards the Essosi coast. New winds were coming from the north, though, washing the cloud away faster, but the fact was that other than Benjen’s raven to Winterfell and the message Addam had managed to send south to Ella, they were unreachable through the air. He turned around at the knock and smiled when he saw Addam coming in.

“Sam leave you alone yet?”

The man snorted. “No. And if you tell him that his smelly pouches are helping a lot I will be very angry. Anyway, how is Daenerys?”

Jon chuckled. “Just left her taking a nap. She actually wanted to go outside.”

Addam rolled his eyes. “Does she even realise that she almost died?”

“According to her, exactly why she needs to live.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s still weak as a kitten and can’t even take a deep breath without feeling pain, but she can’t stand the bed anymore.” Jon took a deep breath. “That was the fucking scariest moment of my life.”

“I can only imagine,” Addam said, patting his shoulder. “I saw how pale she was. She was whiter than snow. But she pulled through. The worst is over, she will make a full recovery.”

“I know, I know,” Jon said with a sigh. “Rellos said you’ve had some ingenious ideas about how to optimise security in the keep.”

He shrugged. “Occupational hazard. The Red Keep might be smaller, but it’s a castle just the same. Anyway, letter from your father,” he said, raising the folded parchment.

Jon frowned. “Maester Wolkan said until the cloud dissipated much more no ravens would be able to fly.”

“I’m not telling you how,” Addam said with a smile. “This is a long-standing, very well-kept secret of House Dayne. I'm letting you know of its existence because I trust you won't betray us and because we’re under extreme circumstances, but I'm still not letting you in the secret.”

Jon rolled his eyes, knowing there would be no convincing him otherwise, and took the letter.

 

_Dear Jon,_

_I am bursting with happiness to hear that I have a grandson. Although my heart is also burdened with worry about Lady Starling and yourself and Lyanna — has Daenerys recovered? And what else happened with the volcano? Did it erupt again? Are you safe there? Shouldn’t you evacuate the island until it’s absolutely safe? Winterfell will house you and your people for as long as need be and I'm sure between you and Lord Wylis there will be enough ships to get everyone to safety. If you need, write to Lord Yohn Royce, he is Lord Protector of the Vale, he will certainly help, and he is much closer than the Royal Fleet._

_As to the rest of your news — it is indeed troubling. I think you should approach Tyrion Lannister with care. I know I have angered Lord Tywin, but it had never occurred to me that he would retaliate in such a manner. If all this is true — and though Lord Tyrion is a Lannister I find there is little to argue with his logic for his father’s and sister’s reasons — we must be more prepared._

_I don’t know if you are aware, perhaps Robb hasn’t contacted you in order to not worry you, but there was an assassin in Winterfell after him as well. Grey Wind took care of it, but obviously our security is lacking if they got so close. I’ve asked Robb to double the guard and I think you should do the same. I'm sure Addam would love to help in that regard._

_I’ll spread the news in the capital that Lord Tyrion is visiting you, so that it will make it back to Casterly Rock and they’ll think twice about acting the same, but nevertheless, be careful, son._

_Given the soot in the last letter, I'm worried about how the volcano is affecting all of you and I do believe it will be hard to send ravens, but, please, do tell me about Daenerys’ health as soon as possible._

_All our love,_

_Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King_

 

“They sent a man after Robb,” Jon said.

“I know,” Addam said through clenched teeth. “I read my sister’s letter on the way. What are you going to do?”

Jon clenched his jaw as well and looked out the window again, going silent for several moments. “Right now, I'm going to go ahead with the naming ceremony of my son. You are coming, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys rolled her eyes when Irri and Doreah stepped up to her, trying to pull her up. “Girls, I’ve said I am _fine_! Please, would you stop treating me as if I were on my deathbed?”

“You were just on your deathbed, milady,” Irri said.

“And Lord Starling asked us to help you as much as we can,” Doreah added.

“Overprotective silly man,” Dany muttered under her breath as she got to her feet, wincing as an echo of pain went through her.

She crossed the room to the fireplace, where she had asked the handmaidens to bring the box with the dragon eggs. She passed her fingers carefully on top of the one in the middle, the black and scarlet one. The one that matched the dragon in her dream. She was going to reach for it, take it in her hands, when the door opened and Lyanna rushed in, yelling “Mamma!” as she came. The girl stopped just short of her mother, seeming to remember in the last moment that she couldn’t jump up as she liked.

“Come here, my sweet,” Dany said, going to sit on the armchair.

“She’s been asking for you for a while,” Ayla said. “I couldn’t distract her anymore.”

Lyanna cuddled against Daenerys, who hugged her back. “Love mamma!”

“Oh, sweet,” Dany said with a chuckle, “mamma loves you too! But don’t you love Aunt Ayla as well?”

The girl smiled, lifted her head, and blew a kiss over. “Love aun!” Then she turned back around and patted Dany’s stomach. “Boh!”

The women laughed. “He’s napping, sweet,” Dany answered. “Aren’t you sleepy?”

Lyanna smiled and curled up against Dany again. “Oh, the joy of children!” Ayla exclaimed, fondly caressing her own baby bump.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Given the recent events, they kept the ceremony closed for family and friends, having a feast be thrown in the village but nothing in the courtyard. Rellos had spread his men all around the godswood and Ghost, Nymeria, and Lady were on high alert.

Given the tenderness in her shoulder, Daenerys allowed Jon to carry their son, though tradition dictated that should be her role. But she was not about to risk dropping her precious baby boy simply out of a whim.

Dusk was falling around them as they gathered in front of the heart tree: Benjen, who would lead the ceremony, Ayla holding Lyanna, Addam, Sam, and even Ser Davos, who had shyly manifested an interested to come.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

“Ser Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Midnight Fortress and the Blessed Island comes here with his wife, the Lady Daenerys, to ask the gods to bless our son.” He exchanged a look with Dany, and she only smiled. “Lord Addam Starling.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the love and support as always!


	40. 39 Word Travels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Addam is shocked with the homage and ravens start crossing their way around the realm: aside from reassuring their family, Jon and Dany finally decided on House Starling's words.

**Chapter 39**

**Word Travels**

 

Addam was shocked into silence. He must have heard wrong. But then everyone turned to him with smiles and he thought he might have heard right after all. The heart tree begun to cry, signalling that the gods were giving their blessings and the ceremony ended, simple as the Northerners liked, and they started to return to the castle.

“Why?” Addam asked, falling into step with Jon and Daenerys.

“You saved both our lives, Addam,” she answered.

“You still got injured.”

She scoffed. “Yes, well, he blindsided you for a moment. But a lesser man would have fallen in pain. You kept your feet, more than that you used your other hand, with a dagger buried in your arm, and stopped him from killing me.”

“We could offer you riches and a castle,” Jon said, “but we knew you would take it as an offence and say ‘I was only doing my job’, so Dany suggested this and I agreed — this is our way of honouring you and saying how much we appreciate your loyalty.”

Addam felt his eyes fill with tears.

“We would have liked to use another name,” Dany said softly, “but it—”

“Too dangerous. Not worth it,” he said.

“It would have been worth it,” Jon insisted, “but we thought we wanted people to know _now_.”

Addam smiled, touched. _Oh, your mother would be proud of you, dragonwolf. And the Queen… oh Queen Rhaella would have been so proud of her daughter!_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My dear father,_

_Daenerys is well! Her recovery was miraculous so we’ve all been thanking the Old Gods. The volcano didn’t erupt again and now the cloud of ash is finally dissipating: northern winds are taking it southeast to Braavos. Maester Wolkan says that in a few days we’ll be able to send and receive ravens, but so far we’re unreachable which may be why I haven’t gotten any messages from Robb._

_Although I would be happier with waiting, Daenerys refused to stay put in bed, only conceding (as begrudgingly as Addam did) to put on a sling to allow her shoulder to heal, so we had the naming ceremony last night — I proudly announce that your first grandson is named Lord Addam Starling, after the man who saved him and his mother regardless of having a dagger buried in his right arm._

_Lyanna is very unhappy — even jealous — that she isn’t the sole centre of attention anymore, but we’ve been encouraging her to spend time with her baby brother so she’ll come around._

_Lord Tyrion has spoken to me, in confidence, about his motives and what made him depart Casterly Rock and betray his family’s secrets, and I ask you to trust me that they are good and honest. I trust Lord Tyrion and I have extended him my hospitality. But your idea to spread the rumours is a good one, it might stay Lord Tywin’s hand._

_All our love,_

_Ser Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Midnight Fortress and the Blessed Island_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robb was discussing the household guard with Hallis Mollen when Maester Luwin brought a new raven scroll.

“From your father, my lord.”

Robb took it with concern. “What about Jon? Has there been any reply?”

“Not yet, my lord. But if Lord Wendell’s message about the volcano expelling ash holds truth, then no raven can fly in or out of the island. We’ll hear no news until the cloud dissipates.”

Robb sighed and unrolled the scroll from his father.

 

_Dear Robb,_

_I’m rejoiced that you and Bran are well and the threat was eliminated — but please, do increase security. A group of assassins also attacked the Midnight Fortress — Jon and Lyanna were not injured and while one of the assassins managed to wound Daenerys, they have managed to deliver the baby, your nephew, and the maester said it was all left to Daenerys’ strength — you know her even better than I, son, we have no cause to think she won’t make a full recovery if that is the case. The volcano erupted, and that’s why they’re incommunicable, but I’m sure your brother will send a raven as soon as he can. Don’t do anything harsh, Robb. Increase security, and use force to protect yourselves, but let me handle the rest — and that’s an order._

_All our love,_

_Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella was sitting in her solar, thinking and waiting. She knew Ned would disagree with her idea, but her husband was too honourable and lacked the necessary amount of political ingenuity to play the ridiculous games of King’s Landing. She would prefer to be in Winterfell with him and the children, away from the mess, but as that wasn’t the case, she’d make damn sure they were safe. The service door she’d left unbarred inched open and she turned around in her chair.

“Lady Stark,” the man said in his usual sumptuous manner. “A little bird said you wished to talk.”

“I do. Please, take a seat, Lord Varys.”

“I’m assuming this has to do with reports that Robb Stark has been attacked in his bedchamber in Winterfell.”

“That too. What else have you heard?”

“Birds from the Vale and White Harbour sing songs of an erupted volcano, but I have no information about the island itself. Most likely due to the cloud of ash.”

“Well, I happen to have some information in that regard.”

Varys raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve come to me, my lady, it’s because you can’t do it yourself and you know your husband would disagree.”

“That is for me to concern myself with, Spider. Cersei sent assassins for Lady Daenerys.”

“Can you prove it?”

Ella scoffed. “If we could, Lord Stark would have gone to the fat fool already.”

“What is it you want, Lady Stark?”

“I want you to suggest to Robert to spend more time with Joffrey. A real bond between father and son, king and heir apparent.”

Varys narrowed his eyes. “To what end? You have no interest in the Baratheon dynasty maintaining their power.”

“Robert will either disinherit him sooner and with no manoeuvre from us or he’ll alienate Joffrey from the Lannisters at least a little bit.”

“Joffrey will never have the support of the people,” Varys stated. “And it’s doubtful he’ll ever love mommy any less.

“No, he’ll never be loved by anyone other than Cersei,” Ella agreed. “Joffrey will likely only make them hate him more. And doesn’t that work in our favour?”

The Master of Whisperers smiled. “I had expected Ned Stark’s coming to King’s Landing would be one big great disappointment. You’ve changed that completely, my lady.”

“You know you don’t have to butter me up, Varys. I will ever only trust you as far as I can throw you.”

He laughed. “That’s the extent to which trust works in the capital, my lady. But you know the game and for so long as we have the same goal, I do think we make great friends.”

Ella glared at him. “We do, Lord Varys. But remember, I know you. I know how far you’re willing to go for ‘the greater good’.”

“Is this still about Harrenhall?”

“You knew what was going to happen in Harrenhall and you still whispered in Aerys’ ear. It was only ever because of you that the Rebellion even had the cause to happen.”

“Hum, yes, and that was a big miscalculation on my part, I do admit to it. I didn’t account for the situation between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, I didn’t — couldn’t — foresee Lyanna Stark joining the game and I certainly couldn’t tell what came afterwards.”

“No one could have foreseen that. But Rhaegar—”

“The Dragon Prince would most likely have been betrayed in Harrenhall. I knew of a man who said that if the Prince had any ideas during the Tourney he would tell the Mad King only for favours, and I'm sure there were others. That’s why I told Aerys. If Lyanna Stark hadn’t impressed him so, my plan would have worked. He would’ve returned to the capital with few, but enough supporters and the plan would proceed as imagined.”

“Well, your miscalculation killed nearly the entire Royal Family and buried the realm in a bloody war. And it put a philandering fool on the throne, puppeteered by an evil cunt. I dare say you have a lot of amends to make, Lord Varys.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My dear brother,_

_I’m sorry it took us this long to send another message, but the volcano erupted. As Uncle Benjen told you, Lya and I are fine, and between Maester Wolkan and the midwife, my son, Lord Addam, and Daenerys are also fine — Dany is having a very quick recovery, to which we’re all thankful for. Father says you’ve been attacked as well — is everyone well? I’m concerned, brother, these attacks are not random, we’ve been assured. In other news, Lord Tyrion Lannister is our guest for the foreseeable future. I look forward to having you visit to meet your nephew!_

_Love,_

_Ser Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Midnight Fortress and the Blessed Island_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned had purposefully put it off for a few days — especially because he needed to get a raven from the Midnight Fortress or the Grand Maester would be suspicious, and they didn’t need anyone wondering how messages were being sent and received. His request to Jon to keep the fact that Lyanna was the heiress quiet for a while was to not raise Robert’s ire that Daenerys would continue her line. But now a son had been born and the gods only knew what would be the King’s reaction.

“Ned!” Robert greeted in his usual flamboyant manner. Then he frowned. “You look like you’ve received terrible news, my friend.”

But Ned was glaring at the Kingsguard nearby. “Ser Jaime. Fancy seeing you here. Tell me, when was the last time you’ve heard from your lord father?”

The knight raised an eyebrow. “That’s a queer question, Lord Stark. Does it have a reason or is it simply curiosity?”

“A little bit of both. I’ve received a raven from Lord Starling, and amidst other news he mentioned that Lord Tyrion is his guest. There was no space for anything else, really, but I did wonder why Lannisters are spreading out throughout the Kingdoms.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. He knew an accusation when he saw one. “I have no idea, Lord Stark. But my brother does like to follow his impulses and flights of fancy, so I wouldn’t worry about an impromptu visit.”

“I see. A curious flight of fancy, this one.”

“Go see if the door needs company, Lannister,” Robert said, serious. “The Lord Hand and I have business to discuss.” Jaime nodded, bowed his head, and left the room as Ned took the chair across the desk from the King. “Tell me.”

“The recent days were a flurry of dark wings, Your Grace. I could discount the first as an isolate attempt, but the second…”

“Attempt at what, Ned?”

The northerner took a deep breath. “Robb wrote first, nearly a fortnight ago, to tell me there had been an attempt on his life. The assassin was killed before he could be questioned, so I ordered him to increase the guard and had been prepared to think of it as an attempt on the heir to a Great House. Then I got a raven last night from Jon. It seems that not a few days later, the Midnight Fortress was attacked and Lady Starling was the target. She suffered a light wound,” Ned lied, “and they were able to safely deliver the child, but still. First, an assassin comes into my home to attempt against my eldest son, my heir’s life. Then another group attacks my second son’s home and makes an attempt on my pregnant good-daughter. It was a miracle no one was killed, but you must agree with me that it cannot be random.”

Robert pursed his lips. “And what is the Imp doing at the Island?” he asked.

“No idea. Jon only said he was a welcome guest, that he came with no red coats, and that he arrived after the attack. I doubt he was involved. But it does beg the question of what in the seven hells he is doing there.”

“It does indeed,” Robert said in a grave voice. “It’s too serious an accusation to make lightly, Ned.”

“I'm not accusing anyone, Robert. I meant what I said that day in the Small Council: Tywin Lannister is too cunning for this. These attacks were too public, too obvious, and right after he and I were openly at odds. But I thought you should know, Robert — as my friend and as my king. Because whoever ordered this, it threatened the sanctuary of mine and my son’s homes and the lives of my sons, good-daughter, and grandson. I will search for the culprit and I will have justice.”

But Robert focused on the information Ned had been trying to slip by. “Grandson?”

“Aye. Jon has a son now. Lord Addam Starling, I'm told, since it seems my good-brother did the saving.”

“Oh… it’s… Jon deserves it, of course. Fine young man, he is…” Then he cleared his throat. “You have the King’s support, Lord Stark,” Robert said in his kingly voice. “If the bastard is found, I’ll have his head in a spike in a blink!”

Ned nodded, relieved, though anger and worry were still pumping through his blood.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Cersei walked back into her chambers after a walk to see if she could clear her head from the unwelcome disaster her father had recently dropped on her. _Our mines are running dry_. She stopped short of her desk, seeing something had been delivered in her absence. Her hand trembled as she reached for the flower — that had _not_ been brought by a raven. Some man or woman had personally delivered the message and the flower, and as such declared to have access to the Rock. She unfolded the small piece of parchment.

 

_We persevere_

 

She gasped, and her hand sparkled in pain as she clenched her fists, opening them in a reflex. The winter rose fell on the desk, red staining the single thorn not removed. Cersei breathed hard, seeing a few drops of her scarlet blood stain the petals blue as frost and the haunting message.

 _Queen you will be until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you out and steal all that you hold dear_ , the witch’s words echoed in her mind. She screamed in pure frustration.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Dear brother,_

I find it interesting that Lord Tyrion is your guest. I’m sure he’ll have all manner of tales to tell. I’m very happy to hear that you, Lya, and Dany are fine and also that I have a nephew! I shall arrange a visit as soon as possible. For the moment, though, I am concerned with tales brought to me by Yoren, a man of the Night's Watch, and by the increasing numbers of deserters and wildlings — only last week a band attacked us in the Wolfswood and the surviving woman, who is our prisoner, tells odd stories. I fear I might have to go investigate, as is my duty as acting Lord of Winterfell.

_Love,_

_Lord Robb of House Stark_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My dear son,_

_It is with ecstatic joy that I write to inform you of the birth of your youngest brother, Lord Cregan of House Stark. With the construction in place, it is also my pleasure to announce my decision to make him Lord of Moat Cailin._

_All our love,_

_Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella rolled her eyes at Ned’s sour face as he helped her out of the litter. “Love, you could look a little less murderous. It’s our son’s naming ceremony,” she said, reaching for the baby so Lady Wynafryd could climb out of the litter as well.

Ned snorted. “This is ridiculous, all this haste is stupid.”

“Ned, please,” she said with a sigh, “this was decided by the King.”

“Because he was feeling like going hunting! ‘I have the urge to kill things’, he said. I don’t get it, he was the one who decided to spend time with Joffrey, and now he is complaining about it. And in order to satisfy his urges, he just wants to leave and have fun and commands the ceremony to be had earlier than costume. You should have another week in bed before even starting to worry about this!”

Ella bit her lip to hide her amusement — driving Robert to resent Joffrey had been her goal all along. “Ned, this is what Robert does. Don’t you remember how he controlled everything in our wedding? And stop fussing, I’m perfectly fine. I know…” She sighed. “I know how it feels to _not_ be fine after childbirth, trust me, all is well.”

Ned pursed his lips but said nothing else — it was exactly because of the daughter they had lost before he’d even met her that he was so worried. People were starting to come near them and it was time to enter the Sept. They had had the northern ceremony the evening before and, as it was usual, the few southerners who attended had been flabbergasted with the simplicity. He supposed it was quite straightforward compared to this song and dance, the flair of the Faith of the Seven. Sighing, he led the way to the sanctuary.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Catelyn watched from the shadows as the crowd gathered. She had been confined to chambers on the day of Ned’s wedding to the whore, as the High Septon and Septa Unella had been concerned she would do something to create a scene. But she had heard all about it afterwards, the other septas and sisters whispering and awed with the grandeur and Lady Stark’s beauty. Catelyn had cried and cried for days, feeling replaced and thrown aside. Then Septa Unella had come, weeks later, to tell her about the morning’s announcement — Lady Stark was carrying a child. That was when Catelyn had completely broken down in sobs. She had prayed and prayed that Rickon wouldn’t be the youngest of Ned’s children, back in another lifetime when she still lived in Winterfell, and now this prayer was being answered. But she wasn’t the one giving him this gift.

She had cried and cried for another few days and then thought back to all the prayers Ned hated her for. Perhaps she had been wrong to ask the Mother to deny another woman a child. The Mother was the goddess you prayed to when you wanted fortune to grace you and your family, like when she had prayed for Bran. She had prayed to the wrong god and now it had turned against her.

She watched now as the new Lady Stark carried the little bundle of blankets across the sanctuary, to the basin placed between the Mother and the Father. Then the High Septon begun the ceremony and announced the child’s name for all to hear: Lord Cregan Stark. A boy. And though Catelyn was too far away to see the child’s eyes, when they passed by the basin beneath the Warrior to bless the child, she saw a head full of dark-brown hair — with the mother also with darker hair, it would be hard for it to be different, but still. The bastard looked like a true Stark of Winterfell and this one seemed to go in the same direction. Soon enough people would start commenting that regardless of her noble blood and her Great House, Lady Catelyn hadn’t been capable of giving her husband children of his colouring, not like the common Lady Ella had.

Though the ceremony hadn’t yet finished, Catelyn ran back to her room, barely barring the door behind her before she dissolved in sobs. There were too many conflicting feelings inside her right now for her to make sense of them, so she only cried, trying to exorcise her sadness.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My dear big brother,_

_I find myself quite unable to find the right words to share my joy. I have a son, Ned! A beautiful baby boy already with a full head of dark brown hair and dark eyes, though we can’t tell the colour yet. My heart feels like it’s grown a hundred times since I first held him in my arms, big brother. I am humbled with my wife’s suggestion to name him Lord Rickard, and you may call me a fool if you wish, but I love her all the more for it._

_Love,_

_Lord Benjen of House Stark, Lord of Crystalia_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My beloved Robb,_

_Rumours have reached my ears that you have been attacked in your bedchamber a few moons ago. I am certain it was a desire to not worry me that has kept you from writing to me before now — I shall be very cross if there is another reason. Dany’s blasé mention leads me to believe everyone thought reasonable you’d have the care to tell your betrothed, and also that you are well and your Guard prevailed over a degenerate assassin. I beseech you to not withhold these things from me anymore as the gossip will certainly reach me at one point and I will be very worried. I look forward to hearing from you — it’s been too long since our last letter._

_Love,_

_Lady Margaery of House Tyrell_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys huffed in annoyance as she watched Jon, Patrik, and Grenn moving about the room and picking things to pack.

“You know I have to go, Dany. I’d much rather stay here with you and the children.”

She sighed. “Why can’t you just wait a little while longer? Then Little Addam won’t be so little anymore and I could go with you.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Jon said. “Castle Black hasn’t seen many women — if any — and there’s quite a few rapists over there. I wouldn’t like you there, even if you’ve become quite good with your dagger.”

Dany shrugged. “I think I can defend myself.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Dany, a dagger may help, but the first thing a man would do is hold you down. Honestly, it’s not worth the risk. So just… keep practising with Addam, and maybe you’ll be able to surprise me when I come back.”

She sat up straighter. “What do you mean ‘keep practising with Addam’?”

Jon frowned. “Do you intend to stop now? I thought you enjoyed your lessons…”

“Of course I intend to stop,” Dany said. “Because Addam is going with you.”

Jon turned to her in shock. “Of course he isn’t. He’s staying here with you and the children. I can defend myself, Dany.”

“Yes, and after the attack Rellos has quite the army protecting the castle. The children and I will be perfectly safe. Unlike you, who is going to an extremely hostile place to meet with hostile people. Addam is going with you. And before you have any ideas, so is Ghost.”

“Dany!” he whined. “I just…”

“Nymeria, Lady, and the guards are enough, Jon. I will not live in fear for the rest of my life. This is our castle, our home, and I will not let that woman cower me into being a scared little lizard. I’m a dragon.”

“I don’t doubt how strong you are, Dany—”

“Good, then it’s settled. Patrik, see to it Ser Addam’s clothes are packed and Grenn, do check for his weaponry and saddle.”

Green smiled and bowed. “Of course, Lady Starling.”

“Dany, I still think—” Jon tried again, but she merely turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “I’d just feel better if Addam stayed with you.”

“Well, I’d feel better if he went with you,” she asserted. “And this time I’m completely disregarding your feelings in favour of my comfort.”

Jon only huffed in annoyance — he knew there was no changing her mind.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Dear Dany,_

_We’ve docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea this afternoon and are gathering horses and supplies for the journey along the Wall — neither Winterstorm nor Ghost were particularly pleased, and Sam only found it barely acceptable. We’ll be in Castle Black in four days, so most likely by the time you receive this raven, but I still anxiously await your response. I miss you and the children very very very much._

_All my love,_

_Ser Jon of House Starling, Lord of the Midnight Fortress and the Blessed Island_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Dear Margaery,_

_I apologise for the oversight — it was a desire to not worry you when the threat had already been taken care of, but I promise it won’t happen again. Grey Wind claimed the rescue that night, but we’ve discovered how the assassin got through the guards and took steps to ensure it won’t happen again. I hadn’t considered that the gossip might travel all the way south, though I should have, and that you would be worried. Would you forgive me? I hope you will._

_We’re leaving soon, so by the time you receive this letter we shall be arriving in Castle Black. There has been some unusual activity from the wildlings and concerning reports from the rangers so, as acting Lord of Winterfell, it falls to me to investigate. Jon will sail north to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and he’ll see how things are there and in the way west along the Wall. But really, it is nothing you should concern yourself with. I’m sure the Night’s Watch is making a fuss in order to draw attention to the fact that most — nearly all — of the nobility has been ignoring the payment of taxes and levies, as well as the number of men they are supposed to send over. I have written to my father, and I’m sure he and the King will enforce the law and this business will be dealt with._

_I shall send a raven once we leave Castle Black, so you won’t worry, and once I’m in Winterfell I will write a detailed account of my journey and hope to delight you with my tales._

_Love,_

_Lord Robb of House Stark_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_My beloved husband,_

_I’m glad you arrived safely — and thoroughly entertained that Ghost and Winterstorm didn’t find their sea legs. Everyone is fine and the castle is as safe as always, though the children are bored and miss you terribly. Lya won’t stop asking for ‘papa’, even stomping into your solar to look for you, and Little Addam keeps hugging the cloth white wolf you gave him and pulling it close. I miss you too, my love, and I can’t wait for your swift and safe return._

_Love and kisses,_

_Lady Daenerys of House Starling, Lady of the Midnight Fortress and the Blessed Island_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“If we had had this scheduled,” Jon called, “it wouldn’t have worked.”

The group of men laughed. Jon, Sam, Addam, Patrik, Grenn, and another five guards had travelled along the Wall from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea while Robb and Theon had travelled northwards by the Kingsroad with ten guards from Winterfell to Castle Black, and they had met just outside the gate.

The Black Brothers opened for them, and they all entered the small courtyard of the castle that served as headquarters of the Night’s Watch, a castle in ruins, or as near it as being inhabited allowed for.

“When Rhaegar said this was falling apart, I didn’t really believe him,” Addam muttered under his breath.

“He worried about the Night’s Watch?” Jon asked curiously, though also quietly.

“Yes,” Addam replied. “He exchanged letters with the maester about something or other. That’s how he knew. He intended…” he exhaled deeply. “He intended a lot of things. And he didn’t have time for most of them,” he snapped, turning back to his horse.

Jon frowned, but Robb had dismounted as well and he turned to greet his brother.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and support as usual!
> 
> Now don't hate me, but I have sad news: finals are suffocating me already as they loom ever closer, and while writing is my way of staying sane, law school is no easy business. I'll do my best to keep up the weekly updates over the next month, but I make no promises, since real life unfortunately has to come first.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed and please leave kudos and comments as fuel :D


	41. 40 Torn Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Robb are in Castle Black to treat with the Night's Watch, and Addam has some interesting news for Maester Aemon. Down in King's Landing, Edric comes to visit his aunt and uncle to bring bad news and an interesting proposal.

**Chapter 40**

**Torn Apart**

 

Everyone in Castle Black stopped their duties and rushed to the courtyard to witness their arrival, eager to see Lord Stark’s heir and bastard. Jon felt a cold shiver go down his spine as he stared at the ice wall erected 700-foot into the sky, making them feel the temperature of the material that made it up. He bundled himself better in his cloak, a blue cloth in the same hue of winter roses lined with warm grey fur, and was once again thankful Ayla had insisted he take fur-lined gloves with him, rather then his favourite worn pair.

“This place is a disaster,” Robb said quietly, equally bundled in his Stark cloak and rubbing his hands together. “It’s much, much worse than I imagined.”

Jon chuckled as he reached into his saddlebag. “Aunt Ayla sent these for you,” he said, throwing a pair of dark grey fur-lined gloves at him. “She said that the lack of a lady in Winterfell would certainly mean you were underdressed.”

Robb chuckled, but quickly exchanged gloves. “Thanks. She is right, though.”

“She usually is,” Jon said matter-of-factly.

“Lesson for life, boys,” Addam cut in, “when women tell you that you are dressed wrong for the weather, you’d better listen. Otherwise, you will be cold or hot or wet. I swear, they have an agreement with the Mother.” They all laughed. “Though if they mean only style, feel free to ignore them completely.” The laughter intensified.

“Lord Stark,” called an arrogant voice in a derisive tone. “How nice of you to pay us a visit.” They turned around — the speaker was an older man, perhaps around his fiftieth name day, but not older than his sixtieth. He had short-cropped greying hair and a very unpleasant face.

“I couldn’t allow for the Watch to be—”

But the man snorted even before Robb could finish a polite and diplomatic answer. “We’ve no need of your pity here, Stark,” he said as if the name were a curse.

“Ser Alliser,” called a booming voice. The man was descending the staircase to the courtyard and all the brothers made room for him to pass. “That is not how we receive guests, is it?” he asked pointedly, to which the other man only pursed his lips. “I apologise for my Master-at-Arms. It’s easy to forget our manners up here in the Wall. I am Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Welcome to Castle Black.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Robb replied. “Yoren spoke of your difficulties and I came to see how we can help.”

“Of course, of course. Come in, let’s get you inside and near a fireplace. I'm sure you are weary from your travels. I’ve had my men prepare rooms where you can all freshen up before we speak.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The six of them were gathered in the family room in the Tower of the Hand, Ned, Ella, Sansa, Arya, Rickon, and Cregan, as they talked and laughed and spent time as a family. Cregan was splitting his time in his father’s, mother’s, and elder sister’s arms, laughing and clapping.

“Lord Edric Dayne is here and has asked to see you, my lord,” Jory announced after coming into the room.

Ella felt her heart pulsing painfully. That did not bode well. Ned nodded and asked the guest to be led to his solar. “Sansa, would you watch your siblings?” he asked.

“Call for the nurse if you need, sweet,” Ella said, standing up and taking the hand her husband offered.

They hurried off to his solar and Ned dismissed the guards as soon as they were inside. “Edric,” Ella sighed, “it is good to see you.”

“Aunt,” he greeted, hugging her back. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news.”

Ella felt her eyes fill with tears and she bit her trembling lower lip as she bowed. “Lord Edric of House Dayne, Lord of Starfall. It suits you, my dear.” He smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Lord Dayne,” Ned said as he kissed the back of Ella’s hand.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. And although Aunt Allyria and I agreed that I should come in person, it is not only this news that brings me over. You see, my father has been lingering in bed for a long time, but he’s always been concerned with the future of his family. We spoke, on his last days, of his ideas and I come with a proposal.”

“I’ll ask for some tea,” Ella said. “You boys talk, I will be right back.”

Edric frowned but Ned knew Ella: more than the tea, she wanted a moment to herself. “Please, Lord—”

“Lord Stark, you are my uncle by marriage. Please, call me Edric. At least when we are in private.”

“Very well,” Ned said with a smile, “as long as you afford me the same courtesy. Please, Edric, let’s sit.”

The boy chuckled. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Now tell me, what business do you have?”

“House Dayne is an prominent and important House in the Kingdoms, Uncle. As such, our marriages must be carefully thought out. After meeting many people, I have to admit… I mean…” he blushed and cleared his throat. “As House Dayne has given a daughter to House Stark, I would ask to join our Houses for one more generation. I would ask for Lady Sansa’s hand in marriage.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Addam knocked softly on the door as he entered the library after breakfast.

“Yes?” called the elderly voice, heavy with sleep as if the man had been napping in his chair.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Maester,” Addam said. “I wonder if I might steal a moment of your time.”

“Of course, of course! Come in. You sound different, you’re one of the men in Lord Stark’s group, I suppose.”

“I’m sworn sword to House Starling. It’s a… delicate matter, Maester. I’d appreciate discretion.”

Maester Aemon raised an eyebrow. “The woes of secrets,” he muttered, standing up. “You sound like a strong sort. Come, help an old man with his duties.” The knight smiled. The Maester was smart and wise, just like Rhaegar had told him. They walked for a while, climbing a rickety staircase to the rookery. “People hate the smell of this place,” Aemon said, “no one should disturb us or come to eavesdrop.”

“Good. Because what I have to tell you is both dangerous and happy.”

“Sounds like quite the tale.” The Maester started cutting up meat. “But first, I don’t think I have your name.”

He chuckled, getting a cleaver of his own. “Right now the realm knows me as Addam.”

“And what is your name?”

“I am Ser Arthur Dayne, the—”

“The Sword in the Morning, a Kingsguard. My… Prince Rhaegar had you in high regard.”

“You as well, Maester. Rhaegar was always comforted by your letters and your wisdom.”

“Are you… are you here to tell me of my great-grandniece? Of Daenerys?”

“That as well. I could tell you all about the lovely woman she is, how much she honours your House, how much of her mother she has in her, and none of her father. But that’s not why I seek you out now. Rhaegar sent you a letter from Dorne. He told you about his second marriage, about the child the Princess carried.”

“He did,” the old man agreed with a sigh. “I was happy for him, for the babe, obviously, and for how we believed that was the third head of the dragon. His promised prince, born of ice and fire. And then I heard the poor girl died.”

“In childbirth,” Addam revealed and the maester gasped. “She died giving birth to Rhaegar’s son, Maester. She died, but their heir, their song lived.”

“To his… she died… and the child?”

“Safe. Her brother arrived in time for her last request,” Addam said and Aemon started to frown. “She begged that her son was kept safe from the Usurper. And Ned Stark—”

“He wouldn’t refuse a beloved sister,” Maester Aemon finished, tears filling his eyes as he took a moment to absorb the news and think of the implications. “Are you… that’s him down there, isn't it? Lord Stark’s alleged bastard?”

“Yes.”

“Oh the irony of life!” the maester chuckled and sobbed at the same time. “That man destroyed my House, murdered even the little children, and usurped a throne he had no rights to. But still he joins them in marriage.” He chuckled. “The Citadel is sceptical to many things, Ser, but I believe in the adage that life always finds a way. He tried to kill the dragons, but the dragons found a way!”

“They did, and already two little dragons grow your House, Maester.”

Aemon smiled. “Little children… oh, the joy of little children…” then his face hardened. “They are safe, aren’t they? That monster… he killed even the little children. But they… now they are safe, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Addam assured. “And we’re making sure they will continue as such.”

“Good,” the old man said. And beneath his rough spun black robe, despite the trappings of oaths and duty he had laid upon himself, despite the chain that weighted him down, in that moment his eyes shone with the fire of dragons.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sansa stared through the looking glass as Ella brushed her long auburn hair. She was still a bit distracted, had been for a couple of days, and the girl was at a loss for why.

“Ella, are you upset?”

The woman blinked, as if coming back to the present. “What? Why would you think that?”

“I don’t… you’ve just been… different. Ever since Lord Dayne came and…” she blushed.

“I'm just being silly, and it’s not even about that,” Ella said, putting the brush down.

“Is Father going to say yes?”

Ella smiled softly. “I think so. Haven’t you talked?”

“He asked me what I thought,” Sansa mumbled with a shrug.

The woman pulled her stepdaughter to sit in the armchairs by the window. “And what do you think?” she asked, but Sansa only blushed. “Sweet, you can have an opinion, you know that, right?”

“I’m a highborn lady and my marriage is a matter for my lord father to decide.”

Ella wanted to sigh. That was verbatim what her septa had attempted to teach her, before her mother interrupted and said in Dorne things worked differently than the Stormlands, where the woman had come from. Obviously, she fled from Starfall and the “sinful” thoughts not much later.

“Oh, my sweet, it is true that, in the world we live in, it is ultimately the father’s choice. But you can give your opinion. Especially when your father asked for it.”

“But I… I know nothing of… of alliances and such.”

Ella gave her a chastising look. “You’re not an empty-headed simpleton, Sansa, don’t play it like you were.”

The girl sighed. “House Dayne is a major House, one of the most important vassals of House Martell, if not the most important. They used to be Kings of the Torrentine before Queen Nymeria’s arrival, so their family is old and of royal origin. They also have a great military tradition, having born great warriors, the most recent of which being Ser Arthur Dayne, who became a Kingsguard. Their ancestral sword is called Dawn and, unlike the others, it’s not made of Valyrian steel, but rather of the core of a fallen star and that is why the Dayne sigil in a sword crossing a fallen star.”

Ella smiled. “And why would such an alliance benefit House Stark?”

Sansa shrugged. “Because it would bring us an ally in Dorne, where Starks never had any relations.”

“See, you do know how to think, I'm very relieved. And you have met Lord Dayne, even before he asked for your hand. What did you think of him? Do you think he would make you happy?”

Sansa bit her lip, but failed in hiding her smile. “Yes, I do think so. He is kind and lovely and very honourable. He also said that while he is young, he is a very skilled warrior. He’s squired for Lord Dondarrion, you know.”

“I had heard, yes,” Ella said. “So you would like the match?” Sansa smiled and nodded. “Good. Something to tell your father over breakfast, then.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon and Robb walked the battlements of Castle Black, watching the daily duty of the black brothers.

“What did you think?” Robb asked.

“I think Mormont was too convinced of his words for it to be merely a tale, however ludicrous it sounds,” Jon replied.

“Unfortunately, I agree. And Mormont doesn’t sound like the delusional sort.”

“No, neither does the Maester.”

They had arrived at the training yard and stopped to look. Ser Alliser seemed even more unpleasant and irritated while doing his job, and the recruits looked miserable.

“Well, well, well, there are nobles here amongst us today,” the master-at-arms said, and the two brothers barely held back an eye roll. “Little lordlings who grew up in feather beds and full bellies. I bet none of you scum could beat them.”

Neither Jon nor Robb gave in to the provocation and the man started drilling the practice again. “Gods,” Robb said as they watched. “With that man teaching them, they’ll never even learn how to hold their swords properly.”

“No,” Jon agreed, “they most certainly will not.”

“Lord Starling,” called a steward, coming closer. “Maester Aemon asked for a word.”

Jon nodded and followed the boy back towards the main area of the castle. “Maester, you wanted to see me?” Then he closed his eyes. “I'm sorry, that was not—”

But the man laughed. “I know what you meant, Jon Starling. And although I would like to see you, I called for you as well. I woke up with the urge to do something I haven’t done in a few years and I wondered if you’d accompany me. I heard through the grapevine you have a volcano in your lands, so you must equally admire the pull of nature.”

“I do,” Jon said as they started walking. “And the volcano has recently erupted, so I’ve learned new levels of respect for the strength of nature.”

After being reassured that no one had gotten hurt, Maester Aemon finally stopped before the little clanky elevator. “Are you afraid of heights, Jon Starling?”

“Haven’t been so far,” he answered, holding the door open.

The elder smiled as he fumbled his way inside and the steward turned the gear to make the system work. After they reached the top, the maester dismissed all the brothers who came snooping and walked along the Wall until he reached an open spot. Jon gasped as he looked north. The Haunted Forest stretched for miles and miles, more miles than he could remember right now. The Lands of Always Winter, covered in an eternal blanket of snow.

“It’s beautiful, isn't it?” Maester Aemon asked.

“Aye,” Jon said in an awed whisper. “It’s magnificent.”

“You should bring your brother when it’s time for sunset, though, that is a beauty if my memory is not betraying me. But I wished to speak with you privately.”

Jon frowned. “Why?”

“Before I took the chain and shed any family ties, do you know who I was?” he asked and Jon frowned, but denied. “My father was Maekar, the First of His Name. My brother Aegon ruled after him, when I had refused the throne, and he was followed by his son Jaehaerys, who was then followed by his son Aerys, whom they called the Mad King.”

“You’re Aemon Targaryen.”

“I am. I also am, I believe, you great-granduncle. Give or take a generation.”

“Through marriage, aye,” Jon said, smiling.

Maester Aemon smiled, biting his tongue to keep in a secret he was so eager to share. “I hear Daenerys is a lovely lady. And that she has recently given you a son.”

“Aye, and a daughter before that. Oh, she would love to meet you! She thinks she is the last of your House.”

Aemon fumbled his hands up Jon’s arms to reach his shoulders, then his face, holding back his emotion. “It is true that a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, Jon. But she is not alone. She has you and your children. However could she be alone?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

They were once again gathered in the Lord Commander’s solar, Jon, Robb, Addam, Sam, Jeor Mormont, and Maester Aemon, when a steward brought a raven scroll that had just arrived. The Maester took the message and dismissed the man, sighing and giving the scroll to the Old Bear.

“Well, it seems we’re having a Kingsguard join us,” Mormont said to the astonishment of the entire group. “Ser Meryn Trant,” he announced and Addam held back a huge guffaw, “has been caught abusing a girl by their Lord Commander, Ser Barristan Selmy, who brought it to the Lord Hand, who then, I imagine, offered the choice of the Wall or the gallows.” Jeor snorted. “A Kingsguard! What a disgrace!”

“Couldn’t agree more, Lord Commander,” Addam said, thoroughly pleased inside — getting caught by Barristan had aided the plan, as he was sure Oberyn wouldn’t have had the patience to wait for exactly this. “It seems nowadays not even the Kingsguard is safe from dishonour. But what of the girl? I'm assuming he was caught before he could do her harm?”

“It only says she was taken into the service of Lady Stark.”

“Well, then, she will certainly be fine,” Jon said with a smile.

“Yes,” Addam agreed, “my sister is a mother-hen, she’ll make sure the girl is well.”

“A Kingsguard in the Night's Watch!” Jeor sneered. “If it were just after the Rebellion, to punish a man who had sworn fealty to the losing family, then it would have been reasonable, but under these circumstances! It’s a shame on Robert Baratheon’s name, for the people he chose based on favours and not skill!” Addam wanted to applaud and voice his agreement, but decided to remain silent.

“We were talking about wildlings, Lord Commander,” Maester Aemon interrupted the passionate discourse. “The Half-Hand had a report.”

Jeor pursed his lip, unhappy, but allowed the change of topic anyway. “Aye. It seems half his best team, a total of seven people, went missing. They’ve sent patrols and nothing.”

“Why are the wildlings attacking the Wall and the Brothers more in recent years than in the past?” Robb asked.

Both Mormont and Maester Aemon took a moment in quiet. “We don’t know,” the Lord Commander finally said. “We have suspicions, but there have been too many reports for it to be only nursery stories.”

“Is this about the Others again?” Jon asked. “They can’t be real.”

“I once thought as much, Lord Starling,” Mormont said. “I'm not so sure anymore.”

There was a scratch on the door, one Jon and Robb were very familiar with, so the oldest stood and opened the door. Grey Wind came in, forcing his way through the chairs and placing a torn-off hand upon the Lord Commander’s desk.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lyanna slipped by Mary’s attentions again and Nymeria helped her dodge the guards as the girl once again ran to her parents’ chambers. Although she wasn’t yet tall enough to open the handle, the door had been left slightly ajar, so she just pushed it open. Nymeria slipped inside and Lyanna closed the door, the direwolf helping with her superior strength. Then the girl gasped. The door to papa’s solar was open! And there was noise inside!

“Papa!” she exclaimed running that way. “Papa!” But her excitement and smile both died suddenly.

“Oh, I'm sorry, little rose,” the man said. “Your papa is not back yet.”

Lyanna’s lips trembled as she held back tears. “I wan papa!”

“He will be back soon, little flower.”

“Weh papa, Davs?”

Davos smiled, crouching in front of her — the girl was too young to talk properly, and still hadn’t learnt his name. “Your papa went to a very far place, to help people.”

“Papa ‘ome!” Lyanna insisted, now a bit angry, stomping a little foot.

“I was thinking to go to the godswood, do you want to come with me? We can gather some winter roses for your mamma.”

That seemed to undo the girl’s angry frown. “Fahwes foh mamma?”

“Aye, what do you think? We can find flowers for your room and for mamma’s room. Maybe some for Aunt Ayla as well, how about it?”

“Foh Unka Ben!”

Davos laughed. “Very well, let’s find ourselves a very big basket, shall we? So we can bring flowers for everyone in the castle!”

Lyanna laughed as well, delighted, and extended a little hand that Davos delicately took so they could start the walk to the godswood. At least for today the girl was distracted from missing Jon.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Despite the Lord Commander’s pleas, Robb was not moved. Addam tried to dissuade him, nearly having a stroke when Jon decided to go as well, but in the end the brothers put their foot down and they were all crossing the tunnel under Castle Black to resurface Beyond the Wall. The direwolves led the way and their trek through the snow was unpleasant even for those who had grown up in the North. Finally they reached their quarry.

“That’s Othon,” Mormont said, staring at one of the corpses. “If he died on the way back, he’s been dead for at least a fortnight. If he died on the way out, even longer.”

Sam frowned, and sniffed at the bodies. “What about the smell?” he asked and everyone took a moment to sniff as well.

“I don’t smell anything,” Mormont said.

“What are you talking about, Sam?” Jon asked, understanding his friend had a point.

“Exactly, there is no smell. If they’d been dead for a while there’d be rot, wouldn’t there?”

No one had a reply or even a comment to that. “We should bury them,” Robb said.

“Good luck digging a grave in this weather, boy,” Ser Alliser said in his unpleasant sneer.

“We should burn them,” Yarwyck said. “The wildling way.”

“Later,” Mormont decided. “I want Aemon to take a look at them. Come on, put them on the sled and let’s go back. Evenfall is too close for my comfort.”

The Black Brothers followed their orders and they returned to Castle Black. In the spirit of getting his mind off of the disturbing afternoon he had had, Jon wandered around, reaching the courtyard to find a few of the recruits attempting to train, though Ser Alliser’s stifling presence was nowhere to be seen. He walked over, good-naturedly offering to show them a few moves, and they were all very happy to get some training without their Master-at-Arms.

But Alliser Thorne finally arrived and saw what was happening. “Lord Starling wants to take my place now.” He sneered. “I’d have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this lot.”

“I’ll take that wager, Ser Alliser,” Jon said. “I’d love to see Ghost juggle.”

The recruits were stunned, and held back their laughter only at the threat of future retribution — a threat that didn’t apply to Jon. The knight’s eyes shone dangerously and he took a step forward menacingly. Ghost stepped in front of Jon, but Addam defused the situation by stepping between all of them.

“I believe it is time for supper, is it not?”

The recruits scrambled, though they were eager to see the conclusion of the scene. “Ghost, to me,” Jon commanded, stepping aside.

“Do you need your thug to defend you, Lord Starling?”

Addam was unamused. “I’d be careful with my words if I were you, Ser Alliser. You’re a fine knight, and I remember watching your skill at tourneys. However, even if you are every bit as talented with a sword as you were in King’s Landing, that ‘boy’ would put you on your back easily enough.” Ser Alliser’s nostrils flared in pure, deep anger, and in a swirl of his cloak he stomped his way across to the Dining Hall. “Cunt,” Addam called.

Jon chuckled. “Are you sure that was wise? He is going to retaliate.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll try. Come on, I’m very much looking forward to the bowl of grub.”

Jon laughed and they too left the training yard.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robb, Jon, and Addam gathered in Robb’s room after supper. Sam had bowed out of the meeting, saying he wanted to check something and Maester Aemon had been kind enough to allow him to peruse his books.

“They must have been too cold and couldn’t build a fire,” Robb insisted. “They were frozen solid.”

“After everything we’ve heard since we got here, that’s your idea? Frozen to death?” Addam asked, looking out the cloudy window.

“Are you telling me you believe in White Walkers?” Robb was incredulous. “It’s a nursery story!”

“All nursery stories come from somewhere. The Wall was weeping — the Brothers said that means it’s not cold enough to freeze two men to death, not this close to the castle. So yes, as ludicrous as it sounds, I think it more likely they fell to White Walkers than froze to death when it’s not cold enough.”

“Wildlings are moving south! They’re attacking the Wall and even crossing to the North! Perhaps—” Robb started.

“That’s one more point in favour of White Walkers, though,” Jon said. “If the lands Beyond the Wall are being haunted by White Walkers, it stands to reason that the wildlings would flee south.”

Robb exhaled, sitting back on his chair. “How can we beat the White Walkers, then?” he asked, as if he were humouring them.

“The answer is in the history books,” Addam replied. “The first Long Night might have happened thousands of years ago, but there’s enough to be found about it.”

“The Wall was built to keep them out,” Robb said. “They can’t cross it.”

“‘The shield that guards the realms of men’,” Addam quoted. “That’s part of the Night’s Watch. Wildlings are men. Rhaegar said...” he sighed. “Rhaegar said wildlings are going to be the first line of defence against the White Walkers. And they are not prepared nor armed for such.”

Both Jon and Robb were shocked. They had grown up with the assumption that Rhaegar Targaryen was better only than his mad father. Even with his father’s reassurance that their aunt hadn’t been kidnapped nor raped, Jon had grown up believing that the Dragon Prince was no good, an evil seducer, chasing young, naive maidens. It was hard to imagine him now as someone with good ideas for the realm. But he’d spent long enough with Addam to know he wouldn’t respect a man like the one the Rebellion painted Rhaegar as — follow him, perhaps, if he were honour-bound, but not the respect and even love that flooded his voice every time he spoke of his long lost friend.

“We should talk to Mormont, then,” Jon said after several moments of awkward silence —an idea had occurred to him. “If we can get the wildlings south, then—”

“Get the wildlings south!” Robb exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it, Robb, if the White Walkers are really alive and sweeping south, then the wildlings are only going to be preys to them. If we can arm and train them, they can be a real line of defence.”

“That is a very wild idea, and more likely to have some lords cursing your name and calling for your head,” Robb said. “It’s late. We should go to bed and wait for the Maester’s final report on the bodies.”

Jon and Addam left the room, and the knight was melancholic at the same time he felt pride at Jon’s initial idea. They separated down the hall, each going to their own room. Jon sat by the fire with Ghost, wishing he were home with Dany, Lyanna running around them and Little Addam napping on the portable crib Uncle Benjen had made. Life on the Wall was cold and lonely. Suddenly Ghost lifted his head and looked at the door, standing up and walking over, scratching the door to be let out.

“Ghost? What is it? Is someone here?”

But the direwolf was anxiously scratching on the door, and Jon stood up, getting his sword belt and going to the door. The winter rose on the pommel glinted against the fire light as he left the room and followed Ghost through the cold and dark corridors to a room Jon recognised.

“Lord Commander?” he called, walking in cautiously.

He was startled by the door closing in a sudden loud groan. Ghost started to bark loudly and frantically, as he was locked outside the room. Jon gasped in shock: standing in front of him was the man Mormont had called Othon. But he was no longer a corpse on the ground. He was standing, with blue unseeing eyes, but moving all the same. That moment, Jon felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to send a big hug and a kiss to everyone who wished me luck on my finals — they’ve been postponed due to the supply crisis we’ve experienced here in Brazil these past few days, so since there was no gas to drive to school and work (or gas to even take the bus) I was walled-in at home with time to write. Though I won’t thank the truckers since it was just scrunched up without the previously blessed week of respite between the two rounds of exams.
> 
> Other than that, I’d like to remark on something that didn’t come up very strongly on this chapter, but it’s going to be explored in more depth next chapter: Jon’s attitude. In canon Jon was a bastard raised in his father’s castle — he had an education and all, but he still wasn’t a noble, he didn’t attend all of the same lessons as Robb. So he got to the Wall (and though he had been wanting to go there, he felt as if he were being kicked out of his home to a place no one told him was so awful) thinking he was better than the others and not being happy to not have that acknowledged, hence his initial attitude. Also, he wasn’t groomed for command until Mormont, and although he had leadership skills they were not developed. Here he was raised and educated to be lord of a castle from birth. And he has already been exercising this leadership for a couple years, so he’s in a different frame of mind than the Jon that arrived in Castle Black in A Game of Thrones/season 1. His whole thinking will be affected because of that, so when you read it, don’t imagine it’s OOC Jon, only it’s a Jon that developed differently than canon.
> 
> Thanks, again, to each and everyone who took a moment to send me love and support and good wishes.


	42. 41 Beyond the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the wight's attack, Sam shares what he found in the library, leading Jon to come up with a dangerous plan he and Robb develop into a dangerous idea much to Addam's displeasure.  
> In the Midnight Fortress, Dany receives a gift she's only too eager to share with her daughter.  
> Sam meets a distressed lady and, deep in wildling territory, Jon has an unpleasant encounter.

**Chapter 41**

**Beyond the Wall**

 

Jon was still shocked, his blood pumping quickly in his veins as Maester Aemon tended to his hand. He had thrust his sword, the lovely gift Dany had given him, into the walking dead man’s body, but all it did was give him time to take a few steps back as the Lord Commander walked into the room from the other door. They watched, in terrified disbelief, as the previously deceased pulled the sword from his chest as if it were only a mere inconvenience and prepared to attack again. In a quick reflex born of years in a training yard, Jon took the lantern in Mormont’s hand, ignoring the quick burst of pain when his flesh met the open flame and threw it onto the attacker.

“How bad is it, Maester?” Robb asked, hovering by.

“I’m fine, brother,” Jon insisted for what he felt was the hundredth time.

Addam had been the first to meet them outside the Lord Commander’s chambers, having been drawn by Ghost’s anxious barking. He was hovering nearby as well, his hand at the pommel of his sword as if eager to unsheathe it on someone. Ghost had gone around the room and met them at the other exit, not stepping more than a few feet away since then.

“The wound will heal nicely,” Maester Aemon said, “it shouldn’t even leave more than a faint scar. It was a remarkably light burn for an encounter with an open flame.”

“It all happened too fast,” Jon murmured.

“I found it!” Sam exclaimed, coming into the room. “Oh, what is going on?”

Jon chuckled. “Were you lost in the library?”

“Well, I wasn’t lost… the… anyway. What happened?”

Mormont explained the night’s events as Maester Aemon wrapped up Jon’s hand. The newcomer was shocked. “Oh! But that… that fits with what I found, actually.” Sam went on to explain how he’d found a book in Maester Aemon’s library about the Long Night: it described the the Others as a whole, more than what Jon and Robb had heard so much from Old Nan’s stories growing up. The White Walkers, the figures of otherworldly power, they were tall, white, and possessed superior strength; wights were the foot soldiers, the dead men, women, children, and creatures the Walkers came across, touching them with their terrifying magic to give them an afterlife; both of them answered to the authority of the Night King, an elusive figure, the stronger and most powerful, unstoppable.

“He can’t be unstoppable, nothing is,” Addam said.

“Well, the book said the First Men and Children of the Forest used daggers and spears and arrowheads to fight the wights and White Walkers, but it doesn’t say anything about the Night King.”

“There must be a way, or they wouldn’t have won the war,” Robb said.

“What kind of daggers? Because I put my sword through the thing’s—” Jon started.

“The wight,” Sam cleared up.

“Aye, I put my sword through the wight’s heart and all it did was stand back up, pull the sword out, and attack again.”

“Go back to the library, Tarly,” Addam said, “and find the answer. It’s in one of those books.”

“A soldier who prefers dusty books,” came the sneering, mocking voice from the door as Ser Alliser entered the room. Addam rolled his eyes, annoyed, but only clenched his hand around the pommel of his sword.

“It seems only dusty old books have the answers this time,” Maester Aemon said, patting Jon’s good hand. “You rest that hand, son, no swords for you for a while. Let your knight do his job for a few days. Now, Tarly, if you have no urge for your bed, there’s a book I want to read — would you care to be my eyes?”

In his never-quenching thirst for knowledge, Sam was only too eager, so the two of them left. Grey Wind appeared from nowhere, snarling at the master-at-arms across from an also snarling Ghost, leaving Ser Alliser in the middle of a dangerous threat, making him quickly leave as well. Addam smiled.

“Good boys!” he exclaimed, throwing them treats he kept in his pocket. Grey Wind returned to his post at the door as Ghost curled back at Jon’s feet, both very satisfied with themselves.

“I’m not so sure you should be encouraging that,” Robb said, though he was amused.

“They respond to threats,” Addam said. “That man is a threat to my patience.”

Jon and Robb laughed as Mormont tried to conceal a chuckle. “We should finally get some rest,” he said. “I ordered some men to burn the bodies — well, the wights, so we shouldn’t have any more surprises.” He looked at he sword lying on the table. “Was the blade damaged?”

Jon touched it with his left hand. “It doesn’t seem so. I hope not, anyway. It was a gift from my wife.”

“Best not upset the lady, then. Good night. And thank you once more, Lord Starling. I owe you my life.” He left as well.

“Are you sure you are well?” Robb asked.

“Aye, brother, I am. My hand will be hurt for a while, but I am fine. No permanent damage.”

Robb exhaled. “Good. Addam, could you make sure he doesn’t do any more heroics tonight?” The knight nodded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon protested, “the Lord Commander said he’d have extra patrols out, and the wights have been taken care of. Go back to bed, Addam.”

“Not bloody likely,” he said. “I only regret I can’t cover both your chambers at once.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll have a guard as well,” Robb said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jon sighed. “Any chance—”

“None whatsoever,” Addam replied even before the question was finished.

“Well, would you at least stay inside? It’ll be bloody cold in that drafty corridor.”

Addam shrugged, as if it wasn’t something that would’ve bothered him. Jon didn’t say anything else, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. He slept heavily, tired to the bone, and every time he got glimpses through Ghost’s eyes, the direwolf was patrolling the wing, snarling at Black Brothers who were unkind to him.

He woke up to a strange feeling — a siren’s call, an urge he couldn’t refuse. As Patrik helped him dress for the day, Jon couldn’t help but think on the unfinished conversation he, Robb, and Addam had had the previous day.

“Maester Aemon?” he called, coming into the library.

“Come in, Jon,” he called back. “How is the hand?”

“Well, thank you. I wanted your opinion and wisdom, if I may ask for council.”

“Always, Jon. Come by the fire, and tell me what troubles you.”

Jon crossed the room, sighing as he sat down. “I’m afraid I’m about to make an unpopular suggestion.”

The Maester smiled. “No suggestion is all popular, Jon. There will always be someone who doesn’t agree, someone to call you foolish, someone to say you’re mad. Should that stop you?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next morning at breakfast, Sansa set down her cup to address what she and Ella had talked about the day before.

“Father, I have… I have thought about your question, about my betrothal to Lord Dayne. If you feel it is what is best, then it would please me greatly.”

Ned smiled. “Truly? I don’t want to be placated, Sansa. It will be you who will have to spend the rest of your life married to him.”

“Truly, Father. Lord Dayne is a kind man—”

“He’s actually a boy,” Arya said.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “He’s Lord of Starfall and Lord Dondarrion said he is ready to be knighted.”

“Then why hasn’t he been? Lord Dondarrion is a knight, is he not? If his squire—”

“Former squire,” Sansa said.

“Fine, if his _former_ squire is ready to be knighted, then why hasn’t he—?”

Knowing why, that Edric refused to be knighted by anyone other than Arthur, Ella thought it best to change the subject. “What matters is that, as Sansa said, Lord Dayne is a kind man and comes from a powerful, important House.”

“Well, Sansa did always want to marry a knight like the songs,” Arya said. “Too bad it won't be a prince, isn't it?”

Sansa blushed deeply. “I wouldn’t want to marry Prince Joffrey.”

“Well, at least you are not as stupid as you were,” Arya mumbled, blushing at Ella’s censoring glare.

Ned, seeing the potential for a fight, started talking about a possible journey up to the Blessed Island for Jon’s name day — while several moons away yet, it would ensure his sons had time to travel back from the Wall and Cregan would be old enough for the journey. And with any luck, Ned would be able to join them himself and perhaps even go as far as Winterfell.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Addam yelled, so furiously that Jon flinched at his tone.

“Addam, we have to—”

“You don’t ‘have to’ anything! This is pure, utter lunacy! Lord Commander, you can’t agree to this!”

“I don’t,” Mormont said. “Beyond the Wall is no place for a hunt, and I highly disagree that the heir to Winterfell and Lord Starling should come with us.”

“It is our decision to make,” Robb said, though it was clear he wasn’t as certain as Jon.

“Look, I understand your hesitancy. But that attack last night only showed us that the White Walkers _are_ real. If we leave the wildlings defenceless and weaponless, they _will_ join the group of wights. We saw with our own eyes how they are turned. We need the wildlings on our side, not as muscle for White Walkers _against us_. Sam found little information on the books, and Maester Aemon agrees that if we leave the wildlings beyond the Wall they will become the enemy.”

“The wildlings have been our enemies for thousands of years,” Mormont said.

“Have they?” Maester Aemon asked. “Or have we just started to treat them as enemies because our _real_ enemy was not close enough to be seen?”

“Look,” Jon started, “I know that wildlings have been in conflict with the Night's Watch for many years. All of us in this room grew up with our wet-nurses telling us stories of the Long Night. We’ve all gone to sleep to have nightmares of monsters we never even believed to be real once we were adults. Last night we all had that belief shattered. The Others are real and though we might never know what made them go away and why they’re back, the fact is that they _are_ back. And they’re pretty close if they’ve managed to turn people into wights just an hour-walk away from Castle Black.”

“The Wall was built to keep them out,” Mormont said.

“Aye, it was,” Robb agreed. “But how long until they breech it? Can it really stand when all of the wildlings have become their soldiers? By your own reports, there are giants and mammoths beyond the Wall, can your defences hold them out?”

“And do you have any idea of how many wildlings even are out there?” Jon asked. “We need to get them south.”

Mormont drummed his fingers on the desk as he took a moment to think. “The King won't accept that.”

Jon smiled, having predicted this argument. “The King has no authority over the Watch or the lands ruled by the Watch. You have the Gift and the New Gift at your disposal, to do with it as you please for so long as it is no threat to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“With a lot of land and several homesteads abandoned, and that is only what I saw from the Kingsroad,” Robb said.

“Exactly,” Jon said. “You could have them settle there, farm the lands, and their soldiers can help man the Wall. They’ll pay taxes to the Watch and even produce food. Everyone wins.”

“What if they don’t want to come?” Addam asked, still fuming.

“We won’t know that unless we try,” Maester Aemon said.

“Lord Commander, you said yourself the wildlings are gathering behind this King Beyond the Wall, this Mance Rayder, a Night's Watch defector,” Jon continued. “He will be able to understand how things in Westeros work and if he is really their King, I'm sure he will at least listen to a proposal that would ensure the survival of his people.”

“And if they won't receive us?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “As Maester Aemon said, we won't know until we try.”

“I'm still trying to understand why you and Robb have to go there,” Addam asked through his teeth.

“Because as the Lord Commander said, the Watch and the wildlings think themselves as the greatest of enemies. We need to be there to ensure dialogue. This could mean the survival of all of us!” Jon insisted.

“And we don’t need permission,” Robb said.

Addam threw him a scathing look. “You might be disappointed to find out that you're here as _Acting_ Lord Stark. If you want to get technical, you need your father’s permission to take a shit.”

“The thing is that we _are_ going,” Jon intervened when it looked like Robb would answer. “It’s not a question, it’s not up for debate.”

Addam snorted. “You are just like your father, you know. A fucking idealistic fool, not thinking about all the implications of his actions. I only wish it won't be your death.” And he stormed out of the room.

Jon and Robb frowned, confused. Their father was a practical man, always had been. It was hard to be a Northerner and be given to flights of fancy when you had harsh weather to deal with, much less lead a kingdom like that. But then Maester Aemon distracted them and they didn’t even think about it anymore.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ayla walked into Little Addam’s nursery room, smiling as she saw that the boy was awake and playing with Daenerys and Lyanna.

“Hey!” the mother greeted with a smile. “Have you come to join us?”

“Aun Aya!” Lyanna exclaimed, standing up and crossing the room to hug her.

“I'm sorry, Lya, I’ve come to steal your mamma.”

“No, no,” the girl said. “Mamma stay and Aun Aya stay!”

Both women chuckled. “How about we go to the stables later?” Dany asked.

Lyanna gasped excitedly, clapping. “Wide, mamma, we wide!”

Dany laughed. “If you behave we can have a short ride, little love.”

Lyanna smiled, and went to sit back with Little Addam, playing with her dolls like a calm little lady they knew she would stop being the moment they turned their backs.

“What is it?” Dany asked as soon as they left the nursery.

“Benjen asked me to get you,” Ayla replied. “The group Jon sent to investigate the volcano finally returned.”

“Finally! It has been months!” They walked to the Audience Hall and found Benjen and three men already inside. They bowed to her respectfully, but Dany only had eyes for the box lying on the floor at their feet. “What… what is this?”

“We found ‘em in a cave at the foot of the volcano, milady,” one of the unknown men said. “That’s why we came back slow. We dinna have good boxes and we dinna want ‘em to break.”

Dany felt tears flooding her eyes as she knelt on the floor by the box, slowly extending her hands towards it. “Do you know what these are?”

“Treasure, milady. No worth to us, but treasure to you. Only one thing can come from fire like that.”

Dany touched the surface of one of the eggs. _Dragon_ eggs. It was warm, warmer than the ones she had in her room. These had surfaced with the eruption, they had come from the magma that had been expelled.

“Lord Stark will arrange according compensation,” Ayla said. “As you said, this is treasure only to Lady Starling, we don’t need anyone being jealous.”

“We live from the Starling lands and by the Starling grace, milady,” another man said. “We are loyal to House Starling.”

“Thank you, men,” Dany said, standing up. “Still, you brought me an immeasurable treasure. I insist in showing my gratitude. Anything you ask within reason will be provided for you.”

The men nodded, bowed, and left, thanking her and her generosity. Dany commanded guards to bring the box to her chambers and told Irri and Doreah to go look for appropriate boxes as she rushed after the eggs. Ayla turned to her husband with a smile.

“Now that is something we hadn’t considered before,” she said.

“What?”

“The people who came here, they all came looking for a better life, because their current one was terrible. And most of them found it, because the island was empty and had so much space to offer. You don’t see anyone going hungry here. They are more loyal. They won't betray House Starling.”

Benjen smiled. “Now that is indeed something we hadn’t thought of.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lyanna ran inside the room — she really did only run to places these days — and knelt next to her mother.

“What dis, mamma?” she asked, looking at the eggs. “More?” She certainly recognised what they were.

Dany smiled. “Yes, little love, we have more eggs now. Would you like one?”

Lyanna opened her mouth in shock. “Weally, mamma? My?”

“You can choose one, Lya,” Dany said, just knowing it was the right thing to do. “Touch them and take the one you like the most.”

Lyanna opened her mouth in amazement, extending her hands to the box nearly reverently, looking back to Dany to check it was really alright. Dany only smiled and the girl went straight to the egg in the middle.

“Touch all of them, Lya,” Dany insisted. “See which one you like best.”

Lyanna pursed her little lips but obeyed. In the end, though, she went back to the one in the middle again. “Dis, mamma. I wan dis!”

Dany chuckled. “You really are a little winter rose, aren’t you?”

Lyanna only smiled, hugging the egg against her chest. An egg blue as frost.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon climbed the steps to the solar in a sprint, feeling surprisingly well after receiving a raven from his lovely wife.

“Lord Commander? You sent for me?”

“Aye, aye. Come in, Lord Starling. How is your hand?”

“Healing. Maester Aemon just changed the bandages and said I should be fine in a few more days.”

“Good. Because I have something to show you,” Mormont said motioning towards the table and Jon stepped closer, frowning. “After… after my son dishonoured himself, he had the grace to at least leave this behind.”

“Valyrian steel, isn't it?” Jon asked, examining the sword on the table.

“Aye. The ancestral sword of House Mormont, Longclaw.” He stopped for a moment, as if gathering his wits. “Anyway, my only son has broken my heart, and he himself has declared he accepts the fact he does not deserve the sword. So it would please me greatly if it went for a man worthy of wielding it. A man who has saved my life.”

Jon widened his eyes, suddenly realising what the other man meant. “But… My lord, I’m… I can't accept it. It’s Valyrian steel, it’s an ancestral heirloom of House Mormont. It should remain in House Mormont.”

“My sister sent it to me, and for years I have believed I would give it to a recruit I found worthy to follow in my footsteps. But so far, none have appeared. You have saved my life, Jon Starling, you and your wolf. I can see no one else more deserving.”

Jon blinked. “Are you certain, Lord Commander?”

“Aye. I'm old. It’s time the sword went to a worthy young man.”

Jon chuckled, and nodded, touched. “I am very honoured, my lord.”

Mormont smiled. “I had our armourer change the pommel — somehow I didn’t think a bear would suit you. He didn’t have a gem worthy of the position, so I’ve had him put in a generic pommel. I’m sure your own armourer will be able to find something.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be delighted!” Jon chuckled.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The journey beyond the gates of Castle Black was hard enough and made harder by Addam’s sombre mood. He still thought it was idiotic and pure stupidity, a risk unworthy of its payoff, but Jon hadn’t changed his mind, so they were being cold to say the least. The Lord Commander had decided to make it into a Great Ranging beyond the Wall, so that the Night's Watch could also evaluate the whole situation. They passed through six wildling villages, all of them abandoned, and since no one had any idea where the wildlings had other villages or even where Mance Rayder was, the Lord Commander decided to start by Craster’s Keep, home to a wildling who lived alone with his wives and usually helped the Night's Watch. Jon and Robb discovered through Eddison Tollett that Craster’s wives were, in fact, his own daughters, whom he married and had more children with.

“There’s something deeply disturbing in fucking your own daughter, even if she’s pretty,” Theon said.

“But what happens with the sons?” Jon asked.

“Don’t know,” Edd shrugged, “and the one brother who asked didn’t ask anything else.”

“It’s disgusting enough as it is,” Robb said.

“Wait until you meet him,” Edd mumbled. “Then you’ll think about disgusting.”

Jon couldn’t help but agree with Edd, whom he had learnt was called ‘Dolorous Edd’ by his brothers for his dry and pessimistic sense of humour. They were unloading their supplies to make supper for the night when Sam bumped into one of the daughter-wives.

“Oh, I'm sorry!” He then noticed she had been crying. “Hey, did I hurt you?” She was scared, as if Sam were a threat to her. He raised his hands in a placating manner. “I won’t hurt you. I’m just worried. Are you unwell?”

The young woman was startled. Then she looked at Sam and noticed his clothes, his _green_ cloak. “Are you… you’re not in the Watch, are you?”

“No. No, I’m not. My name is Samwell Tarly, but everyone really calls me Sam.”

She seemed wary. “I’m… I’m Gilly.”

“Hello, Gilly, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Could you…” she looked around, as if afraid of her own shadow. “Can you help me? Please, please, milord, help me!” She clutched to Sam’s sleeves, despair clear in her voice and her eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, none of that!” Sam said, a bit at a loss. “Look, come on, I’ll find you some tea and you can—”

“No! No, no, no! If… If he sees us, if he so much as suspects…”

“Gilly, what is it?”

She sobbed, but Sam soothed her, and finally she opened up.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon, Robb, Theon, and Addam were setting up the corner they were to share with Sam that night when he came to join them, his face set in a determined frown. Addam rolled his eyes.

“We’re already dealing with enough bad ideas for you to come up with a new one, Tarly,” he said, earning himself a glare from Jon.

“We need to—” Sam started.

Addam rolled his eyes. “What is it with you boys and ‘needing’?” he asked, frustrated.

“One of Craster’s daughters needs our help,” Sam insisted, not vexed.

“They _all_ need our help,” Robb said.

“Aye,” Theon agreed, “half of them are quite pretty. _Too_ pretty for that bastard.”

“Really, Greyjoy? They deserve help because they’re pretty?” Jon said.

“Your brain needs to connect with your tongue more often, Greyjoy,” Addam added. “It might do you good.”

“The point,” Sam called attention back to himself, “is that Gilly needs our help. She needs us to take her with us when we leave.”

“I think your brain needs to connect to your tongue, Tarly,” Theon said.

“Sam, as much as I want to help, we can’t do that,” Jon said regretfully.

“It’s guest rights, Sam,” Robb pointed out. “As disgusting as he is, that man opened his home to us. We can’t just put one of his daughters in one of our sleds and take her with us.”

“Even if she begs us for it?” Sam asked. Robb nodded his head to the side, as if considering the argument.

“Sam, we’re going deeper into wildling territory,” Jon reminded. “We can't take a girl with us.”

“But… you don’t understand! She is pregnant, Jon. And she’s scared! She’s scared if it’s a girl, that she’ll have to see her baby being… like her mother had to watch her become wife to Craster. And if it’s a boy… you noticed yourself when we got here, remember? You asked, what happens to his sons? There are no boys around, only girls!”

“He’s got a point,” Addam conceded.

“Still, we _are_ going to continue further north,” Jon said. “What are we going to do with a pregnant girl? And the baby? Who’s gonna deliver it? You, Sam?”

He shrugged. “I bet I could. I’ve read about it.”

“You’ve watched it twice, haven’t you, Starling?” Theon asked jokingly. “You could give some pointers.”

Jon threw him another glare. “Sam… I am sorry. I wish I could help. But right now… we can’t take her with us.”

“How far along is she?” Robb asked and everybody turned to him. “Look, it’s not going to take us a whole year to find Mance Rayder and come back. And if the Lord Commander is right, then we’ll need to stop by here again. We can take her with us on our way south.”

Sam wasn’t the most pleased, but agreed it would be the best solution. Their night there was uncomfortable, as the wives kept looking at them from the balustrade as if they were exotic animals. In the next morning, Sam went in search of Gilly, finding her gathering twigs for the fire.

“So you’re leaving…” she said, despondent.

“We’ll come back for you, I promise,” Sam said.

“You don’t need to…”

Sam reached into his pocket. “This was my mother’s, it’s the only thing I have of her. She used to let me sit with her as she sewed, so I’d read to her. My father put a stop to it when he… anyway, she gave it to me when I left. We thought I was going to join the Watch. That was before I met Jon and he helped me, gave me a place to live.”

Gilly frowned. “Why would you leave if you didn’t want to join the Watch?”

“Well…” Sam fingered the thimble. “My father… he wasn’t a nice man, you see. He kicked me out because he didn’t want me to be the heir, so he needed me in a place no one would question how I couldn’t inherit Horn Hill. So up North he sent me. But I met Jon outside Winterfell and he decided to help me and petitioned the King to recognise my renouncement to my inheritance so I was safe from my father. Then he brought me into his service and even gave me a castle and lands.”

Gilly was amazed. “He sounds like a king!”

Sam chuckled. “No, no, Jon Starling isn't a king, he’s just a lord. But he loves to help people, him and his wife. You’ll meet her once we take you home with us. Lady Daenerys, she’s lovely — lovelier than the Queen. Though she was born a princess… anyway, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we come back. But here.” He gave her the thimble.

“You… I can't take it… it’s the only think you have of your mother’s. You shouldn’t give it away.”

“I’m not giving it away, I'm giving it to you. Besides, you can return it once we come back to take you south with us.”

Gilly smiled and accepted the thimble. Then they heard a noise and she ran away before someone caught them speaking.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Everyone was only too eager to leave and they went back to trudging through the snow towards the Fist of First Men, where they would meet the group coming up from the Shadow Tower.

While the thick of the group stayed at the Fist to settle their camp and wait for the others, Jon, Addam, Ghost, the Starling guards, and three other brothers of the Night's Watch left to see if they could find any game in the frozen woods. Ghost vanished almost as soon as they found cover among the trees, but Jon wasn’t worried. His companion was a direwolf: with the sun up, there was nothing in these woods he wouldn’t be able to defeat or outrun.

They were nearly turning back, giving up on finding anything and worried about the sun descending when Addam stopped suddenly. Jon knew by the seriousness on his face that he was hearing something. The guards also stopped, looking around for the threat. The oldest black brother frowned, the most accustomed to these woods, and turned in the direction of the noise at the same time a gang of wildlings attacked, overwhelming them.

Jon unsheathed Longclaw, parrying the blow of a wildling that was already on top of him, listening as the clearing came alive with the sound of steel against steel. But there were at least three wildlings for each of their group, and they fought with a brutality they had never seen before. Jon heard Addam yell out a warning but, before he could turn to it, he felt a blinding pain on his head and Longclaw slipped from his fingers. Fallen to the snow-covered ground, the last thing Jon saw before his consciousness left him was bright red hair.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm heartwarmingly overwhelmed with the love and support I received, thanks so much everybody! And keep them coming because they are a tremendous source of inspiration.
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed this one! Things are certainly picking up!


	43. 42 Longclaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets the wildlings for the first time, but the night is dark and full of terrors.

**Chapter 42**

**Longclaw**

 

His mind was hazy, that much Jon was capable of recognising. The room around him was out of focus, but there was an undeniable warmth and feeling of home to it. There was a fireplace crackling nearby and a woman humming a lullaby. The voice was unfamiliar, but the tune was not. It was a northern lullaby, one Old Nan quite liked, and one of Ayla’s favourites.

“Aunt?” he called, still hazy.

The woman chuckled and her presence came near, the lullaby growing in volume. Jon felt a hand ghosting over his forehead. “You need to wake up, son,” she said, her voice distorted and far away.

His head pulsed painfully. _Son_. “Mother? Am I…”

“Of course not,” she said with another chuckle. “We’ll meet, but not for a long time yet, son. It was a nasty blow, but you’ll be fine. _Wake up, son_. They’re coming, but Arthur will keep you safe.”

His mind was so hazy he was finding it hard to think. “Mother…”

“I love you, my sweet wolf pup. Now wake up! Trust your weapons, and you can beat them. You know who the true enemy is, Jon. Beat them back.”

Jon felt the haziness increasing. Her face was covered in shadows so that he couldn’t recognise her, as badly was he wanted a mere glimpse. His consciousness faded once more and when he started to come to again it was not to home-ness and warmth, to his mother humming a lullaby by the fire. It was to cold snow beneath him, his arms tied behind his back as he sat leaning against a tree, his head pulsing painfully where he had gotten the blow. He groaned loudly.

“Jon? Jon, are you awake? Jon, can you hear me?” called Addam’s panicked voice.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled, throwing his head back and trying to open his eyes against the brightness of the snow-covered landscape.

“Thank the gods!” Addam muttering, exhaling in relief.

Jon looked in his direction and after his eyes focused, he was able to recognise that the knight was in a similar situation to his own, tied up and leaning against a tree. The three men of the Watch were next to him, rope tied up around their elbows and ankles as they lay on the ground. The Starling guards were sitting as well, ankles and hands tied up on their front and except for Addam all of them were gagged. Jon felt a wave of fury when he saw one of his men bleeding out in the once pristine snow.

“Well, look at that! The little lordling woke up!”

The wildling was gruff and looked like a bear — Jon recognised his unkempt red hair, knowing he had to have been the one to club him on the head.

“We’re here to talk,” he told the wildling, knowing hostility would help no one. Besides, there was nothing any of them could do, he had to stall for time. Checking his other senses, Jon noticed even through the gloves that there was something in his hand. He had little room to move, but he wiggled enough that he felt a sharp thorn-like point, which he immediately turned to force against the rope. It would be neither easy nor fast, but the rope would give. Well, back to stalling for time.

“You come with 300 men to talk?” the redheaded wildling sneered.

“This is your territory, the Lord Commander only wanted protection. Mainly from what attacks at night, not from your people.”

The man stiffened. “What do you know about what attacks at night?”

“Are you gonna let the pretty crow sweet-talk you, Tormund?” another wildling jested.

“Shut up, you cunt. He’s not a crow, can’t you see it?”

“I thought my blue cloak would be obvious enough,” Jon said. The rope was starting to give way.

“Don’t care the colour of your fucking cloak! You’re a southerner—”

“I’m not,” Jon contradicted. “I’m from the North.”

The wildlings all laughed. “You’re from south of the Wall,” Tormund said, “And that makes you a southerner. You’re in the True North now.”

Jon shrugged as much as the rope allowed him to, using the movement to force his bindings. Addam frowned at him, recognising he was up to something, as they’d already had this same conversation with Craster.

“Can we agree that regardless of where we’re from, we are all men and that we are interested in surviving? In beating the monsters that attack your villages at night?” Jon asked.

“What do you care about our villages?” asked the second wildling.

But Jon saw that Tormund at least was interested in the conversation. “Well, I actually do care about innocent people dying, so I’d rather avoid it if at all possible. I don’t know your people. You’re right, I don’t especially care about your villages. But the Others won’t be satisfied in killing you and yours and stopping there. They’ll want to cross the Wall. And I care that south of the Wall I have a lovely wife, a daughter, and a son, not to mention siblings, and a father, a stepmother, and a whole lot of people I love and I damn well would like to protect them.”

Tormund narrowed his eyes. “Say we believe you — and I ain’t saying I do — but if I believed you. What do you want?”

Jon looked up to him, feeling the rope halfway loose. “You’ve counted the Watch has 300 men. I have no idea how many wildlings you have, but it’s gotta be more. Me and my brother would like to sit down with Lord Commander Mormont and your king, Mance Rayder, and talk.”

“Talk?”

“Aye. Talk about how we can all survive.”

“You’re mad if you think we’ll take you to our village,” the second wildling muttered.

“No, you won’t. Say the place and we’ll meet there. You know how many men we have and you know the lay of the land. You’ve got higher ground.”

Jon shivered. The sun had just set, but suddenly it was much colder than he’d anticipated.

“I don’t feel like listening to you blab any—”

“Shut up, Orell!” Tormund snapped, clutching an axe in his hand. “It’s too cold. They’re here. Get ready.”

The wildlings stiffened, all drawing their weapons. Jon doubled the speed of his attack on the rope, looking up to see as Leeds, sitting next to Addam, sagged. He saw the glint of metal and the guard suddenly moved his arms. _Easy_ , Jon mouthed at him, understanding he was loose. The guard nodded imperceptibly and moved as slowly and inconspicuously as he could to pass his dagger to Addam.

It seemed like an eternity hung in the air. The wildlings were so focused on preparing for the incoming enemy that they didn’t seem to notice their prisoners getting free. Jon felt the rope finally give way and loosen just as ten wights jumped from the shadows into the clearing. Remembering the experience with Othon, he didn’t waste time looking for Longclaw or any other sword, simply reaching into the still building fire for a twig. The wight that had been about to behead Tormund caught on fire as if he were made up of oil. The wildling pulled his axe free of the crumbling corpse.

“Nice trick,” he said.

“Steel doesn’t work on them,” was all Jon replied as he turned to fight another wight, trying to get to where Addam and the others were.

But he’d already gotten himself loose, not needing to act quietly, and passed the knife to another guard. “Are you alright?” he asked, reaching for a torch of his own as Jon got near.

“My head is ringing like a bell,” Jon said, taking out another wight.

The cold intensified. The last wight fell, now that everyone was using torches against them, and the two of them looked around the clearing. There were two wildlings fallen, one black brother had been trampled, but other than that, everyone was now on their feet. They turned to an opening of trees across from them and Jon fell a chill go down his spine.

“Fuck,” Tormund cursed as they all stared at the white figure coming in their direction.

Jon couldn’t help but share the sentiment. This had to be a White Walker. Tall, seemingly made of ice, long white hair billowing in the air behind him, the creature seemed unable to fear anything. Jon took the twig still burning in his hand and threw it as if it were a spear. The White Walker smiled and held the torch by the burning part, dousing the fire with his icy touch.

“I agree,” Addam said. “Fuck.”

The White Walker came forward, so softly and silently he seemed to be floating. One of the black brothers, on the way, jumped up to charge, but the creature merely raised an arm and the man flew across the clearing and opened his head upon impact against a tree. The three Starling guards still standing found a similar fate. Jon picked up a sword lying around and charged, hearing Addam fall into step on his right, Tormund on his left. The White Walker was still unconcerned. After parrying a few blows with his icy spear, he had pushed Tormund and Addam a few feet away, their weapons useless, and caught Jon’s borrowed sword. The steel froze upon the touch, dismantling, crumbling to dust. Jon looked deep into the blue, icy, supernatural eyes.

“Lordling!” Tormund called.

Jon saw something hurtling in his direction and took a few steps back. He managed to catch it and recognised Longclaw. Given the way the borrowed sword had just crumbled to nothing, he highly doubted it would be any help, however, he very much preferred to have a sword in his hand and fall fighting. The White Walker smiled again, filled with unshaken hubris, and charged with his spear. Jon parried and, this time, the touch did not shatter the blade. The two of them looked to Longclaw in surprise. Then Jon used the surprise and disconcert in his favour and buried the Valyrian steel in the creature’s heart. The White Walker stiffened, widened his eyes, screeched in pain, and exploded into a thousand shards of ice.

Jon was breathing hard, his blood pumping fast in his veins, his sword arm shaking, his head still pulsing painfully, trying to grasp the enormity of what had just happened. Addam rushed to him, panicked.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Jon whispered. “It… it just… burst.”

“Valyrian steel,” Addam said, looking at the sword in Jon’s hand. “Regular steel crumbled, Longclaw didn’t, it… well, I suppose it killed the thing.”

Jon nodded, still dazed, and his legs gave in, his knees buckling. _They’re coming_ , she had said. Addam held him up, supporting him to lean onto a tree. Tormund came to them, offering his water skin.

“You need a drink, lordling. Your first kill?”

Jon shook his head, still stupidly, and took a gulp. It wasn’t his first kill, but there was a big difference between executing a man who had attacked his family and killing someone, or something, in battle. The drink went down burning his throat. “What is that?”

Tormund laughed at his face. “Fermented mare’s milk. Much better than the shitty grape water you southerners drink. Now — that sword. What kind of steel is that?”

“Valyrian steel,” Addam replied, thinking it wouldn’t make a difference to name it once the wildling had seen its properties. Jon shivered. _Trust your weapons, you can beat them_.

“How do you make it?” Tormund asked.

“That’s the problem, no one knows.” Addam exhaled, looking around at the destruction in the clearing. “Valyria fell and the secret vanished with them.”

Tormund grunted, taking his water skin back and throwing back a big gulp. “The first White Walker to die in centuries,” he said, toasting Jon. He snorted, still in a daze, and took another offered drink.

“Alright, that’s enough for you,” Addam said, taking the water skin from Jon’s hand and pushing it back to the wildling. “Don’t need you getting drunk in hostile territory.”

“How did you get free?” Tormund asked. “Don’t exactly mind now, but it’d be nice to know.”

When Addam only glared at him, the wildling shrugged and went to see to the rest of his group. The knight turned back to Jon, who was still staring into nothing, his eyes unfocused. “Hey, what is it? It can’t be only the attack.”

“I…” Jon looked back to him. “I don’t understand…”

“Don’t understand what?”

He frowned at Addam, as if trying to puzzle out a mystery. “How would she know? And how did she know… Longclaw…”

“She? Who? Jon, what are you talking about?”

“I… when I was unconscious… I had a dream… or it was a vision…”

“A vision?” Addam widened his eyes. Visions were things from dragon blood. Was Jon finally letting that side of him flourish? Or was it like a green dream?

“My… she told me to wake up, that they were coming. She told me to trust my weapons and that…” He frowned. “She said you would protect me. But she knew who… she used your real name.”

“Jon, take a deep breath,” Addam said. “You’re making no sense. Who told you?”

“My mother,” he declared and the knight stiffened. “She told me to wake up, that ‘they were coming’. She knew the Others were near and that Longclaw could defeat them. She said to trust my weapons.”

Addam felt a shiver down his back. “Did you see her?” he asked, hoping against hope that the secret would be out already.

“No,” Jon mumbled, shaking his head sadly, “her face was covered in shadows. But she called me son and answered when I called her mother. She called me her ‘wolf pup’.”

Addam smiled. “How did you get free?” he asked in a quiet voice, turning to where Jon had been tied up.

“I don’t… There was something in my hand. Don’t know what, but it was sharp and…” He went quiet as Addam crouched down and pulled the thing from amidst the broken rope. “Oh. That was quite sharp.”

Addam chuckled, looking down and checking. “Yes, quite sharp.” Then he snorted. _I’m surprised you didn’t send him wolf claws, Lya_ , he thought. _But I guess it’s more poetic this way_. “Come on, Robb and the others will be worried. Let’s go back.”

He turned to go check on the guards and black brothers, giving it to Jon as he went. The Lord of the Midnight Fortress could only stare, still flabbergasted with the events. The thorns were frighteningly sharp and he was not impressed they had managed to cut through the rope. A cloud moved in the sky, revealing the full moon in all of its glory and the colour jumped out against the whiteness of moonlit snow. But how had a blue winter rose materialised in his hands?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

They had gathered all five bodies on top of the kindling the wildlings had collected and Tormund threw a bit of his fermented drink to make the fire catch faster.

“That is a waste of drink,” he complained.

“Needed to be done,” Addam said.

“We should—” Jon started, but then his connection to Ghost sparkled and the feeling of dread from the direwolf was so strong he warged without his control.

The woods were silent and cold and through the wolf’s ears they could hear the slight crunch of snow. It smelled foul from the north and Jon impressed the need to run. He felt Ghost shiver, fear clear in his mind, and then the connection broke.

“Ghost!” he called, returning to his own body.

“Where is he?” Addam asked, concerned.

“There’s more of them coming!” Jon exclaimed. “I gotta go find him! They’re going to get to Ghost!”

“You’re a warg?” Orell asked, surprised.

“Jon, wait!” Addam called. “You can't run blindly through the woods. Warg again, figure out where Ghost is.”

Jon nodded, accepting the argument, and focused on Ghost, trying to establish their bond. There was only panic, full-blown panic, but he pushed through and merged their minds. Through the direwolf’s eyes, the man could see white and trees flashing by faster than he could keep up. Jon tried to make himself a beacon — with a fire this big, they had enough torches to fight wights and Longclaw would work against any White Walkers. He felt Ghost’s mind calm down slowly, the panic subsided once he got farther away from the threat and felt Jon getting near. The blurred warmth people were to wolves came into view and they could see the big pyre just beyond the trees. Jon came back to his mind again, shaking his head. The wildlings screamed in fear, some brandishing weapons.

“No! No, wait! Stop! He won't hurt you!” Jon called out. Tormund and Orell turned to him with shock, and the redhead called off his men. But Jon gasped: Ghost was not alone. There were two other direwolves with him. The albino crossed the clearing, stopping by Jon’s side and the wildlings just watched in shock how man and direwolf connected.

“If the wolves ran here, they’ll follow,” Tormund said.

“We have to go back to our group,” Addam said. “Look, I know you don’t trust the Watch, and I don’t blame you. But right now we need the safety of numbers.”

“The Watch is making an open camp with no defences. Anyone with a crossbow takes you out,” another wilding said.

“And you think these enemies are going to bother with crossbows?” Leeds said and Jon thought he must be very angry if he was speaking up — he was usually quietly observing, not engaging in discussion.

“The southerners are right.”

“But Tormund…”

“Shut up all of you. I'm the leader here, I'm the one giving orders. If the White Walkers come, our best bet would be to jump in the fire and hope to not come back as wights. With them we have a chance.”

“Until they put a knife in our backs!” Orell complained.

“It’ll be a more pleasant way to die,” Tormund said, closing the subject.

Jon and Ghost stiffened as the air echoed the sound of a loud howl.

“That’s a calling howl,” a spearwife said. “How wolves call their pack back home.” Everyone turned to Jon.

“It’s Grey Wind,” he said. “She’s right, he’s calling the pack, which means he either sensed the danger or Lord Robb needs us back for a reason. Everybody take a torch!” He looked down to Ghost. The direwolf sat on his haunches and howled just as loudly, answering to his brother. “Come on, Robb knows we’re on our way back now.”

The men and women followed, picking up torches from the burial pyre and trekking slowly through the dark wood. Orell and Tormund came up on Jon’s left side.

“A southerner warg — didn’t know you had those,” Orell said.

“Me and my siblings all can do it, and the crannogmen are also known for it,” Jon replied.

“Do all of you have a direwolf?” Tormund asked, watching Ghost mingle with the snow as they walked.

“They’re not property to be had. But aye, we all have a direwolf companion.”

“You’re something else, lordling,” Tormund said, laughing. “Maybe we’ll work together after all.”

Jon sighed. “My name is Jon Starling.”

“I’d’ve thought you’re a Stark. ‘Cause of the wolf,” the redhead said.

“My father is Lord Eddard Stark. I'm his second son. But the King granted me my own House and castle.”

Tormund snorted. “The King. A King you didn’t choose. You southerners are all kneelers.”

“A King my father fought to put on the throne.”

“And you kneel to him. Tell me, did you choose him? Did you fight for him?” Tormund asked and Jon didn’t have an answer. “And when he dies, will you choose his son? No, you won't. But you’ll have to accept him all the same.”

The wildling walked away. Jon was angry thinking of Joffrey. The man was right: he’d never choose the blond cunt, he’d never like kneeling to him, but he would have to anyway. The walk back to the camp took over an hour in the dead of night, and the watchmen were very unhappy to see them, though their fire made them visible and therefore proved they were no threat.

Jon sent Leeds and the surviving black brother to get the Lord Commander as he went straight to the tent he was sharing with the others. Grey Wind went in to get Robb as soon as he saw them.

“Finally!” he called. “I thought you had gotten lost in the woods!” He frowned then, seeing the handful of wildlings with them.

“I wish it had been so simple,” Jon said, going to the sled with their packs and rummaging through his. He took out his regular sword and passed it to Addam, who hesitated. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with an eye roll, “we don’t have an armourer here and this is just collecting dust. Take it.”

“Daenerys…”

“She won't mind. She’d be furious, though, if you refused it and therefore didn’t have a weapon. You won't do this to her, will you?”

Addam relented, knowing he needed a sword that hadn’t been frozen to dust. “Fine. But I'm getting a new one as soon as we’re home.”

“I'm sure Gendry will be delighted to help,” Jon bit back.

“What happened?” Robb asked.

“We were attacked by wights and a White Walker,” Jon said and Robb, Sam, and Theon gasped collectively. “Fuck, they are bloody terrifying.”

“Is that where you found your friends?” Theon asked, looking over the wildlings.

But the Lord Commander joined them and Jon started the story from the beginning once they had retired to Mormont’s command tent with Qhorin Halfhand. An argument broke out between the two ancient groups of enemies, but finally Jon and Robb managed to ensure dialogue.

“We have to stop bickering!” Jon snapped, about a half-hour later, punching the makeshift desk. “They’ll kill either side, uncaring if it’s a man of the Watch or a wildling!”

“Free Folk,” Tormund said.

Jon nodded. “Look, I know generations of fighting won’t go away with a nice chat by the fire. But this is about survival, yours and ours, and everyone north or south of the Wall. The Free Folk can't beat them and, if they take all of you as wights, and mammoths and giants as well, the Watch can’t stop them crossing the Wall.”

“Mammoths can't climb,” Bowen Marsh said.

“No,” Robb agreed, “but they can burst your gates wide open.”

“Our gates are thick cold-wrought steel,” Othell Yarwyck boasted.

“They are, and are you absolutely certain they’ll stand against a couple mammoths and their giant friends?” Addam asked.

“And there are several castles in ruins along the Wall,” Sam pointed out. “They’ve been abandoned for years, centuries in some cases. They should be easy to go through.” The men of the Watch glared at him, as if the wildlings didn’t need that idea.

“This is all irrelevant. Yarwyck, Marsh, go tell the perimeter people to spread fires and torches all around, I want every able man with a lit torch in easy reach. Now, you, Tormund. You said you’re Mance Rayder’s lieutenant. Do you have the power to set a meeting?”

“I have the power to tell you I will talk to Mance and he won't doubt me. But I can't force him to come to the meeting if he doesn’t want to.”

“It’s good enough,” Mormont muttered and they went on to settle a meeting place. When the meeting dispersed, Jon attempted to return Longclaw to the Lord Commander. “Don’t be ridiculous, Starling. I’ve told you why I was giving it to you. I highly doubt Ned Stark never taught his son it’s rude to return a gift.”

“Circumstances changed, Lord Commander. Valyrian steel may very well be the only way to defeat the Walkers, I can’t take it further south.”

“Oh, don’t worry, after we return to Castle Black I have no intention of crossing back North. It will serve me no purpose.”

Relenting, Jon left the tent and returned to his. The wildlings had enlarged the fire just outside and settled around it, and Jon thought that they’d feel more comfortable near men who weren’t in the Watch. Theon was already snoring in his bedroll and, though Leeds wasn’t in the tent, the other two surviving Starling guards who had come with them were also asleep — Jon didn’t begrudge them after their day being attacked by wildlings, wights, and a White Walker. Robb, Sam, Addam, and Grenn were waiting for him, though.

“The stewards were sent to make a latrine pit,” Grenn started telling. “I was helping with the unloading and was near when they found it, milord. I didn’t know the symbols — can't read — but I knew it was something, so I came to get Lord Tarly.”

“They are symbols from the First Men, Jon,” Sam went on. “I recognise them, but don’t know exactly _what_ they mean. I copied the inscription to take back to Maester Aemon’s library, but here, there was this package.”

Jon inspected the contents. “This is… I recognise this. They found this in the mines. It’s dragonglass.”

“Yes,” Sam confirmed. “The First Men were known to use it. I don’t know why they’d have daggers made out of glass — even if it is volcanic glass.

“Maybe they didn’t have a forge?” Robb suggested.

“Well, actually, they did,” Sam said, “they did use steel, that’s why their weapons were superior to those of the Children of the Forest, why they came decimating so quickly.

Jon sighed, dropping the dagger he had been examining in the cloth that had been wrapping them. “Honestly, this is a mystery for tomorrow.” His head pulsed painfully. “Sam, I need any potion for pain you’ve managed to bring and I need my bed.”

“Were you very wounded?” Robb asked.

“I'm fine. Just got a blow to the head.”

Sam produced a small bottle and Jon chugged it down with gusto. In moments, his brain began to blur and haze and he fell back on his pillow, pulling his blanket up. Last thing he remembered was Ghost lying next to him, sharing his warmth.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the love and support :D
> 
> The answer to the "who is the redhead" enigma is here, and I hope you've enjoyed it :)
> 
> Next chapter will take us away from the lands beyond the Wall, back to the southern characters, and will, obviously, not be coming next Saturday, as it just in two days, and I honestly don't know when it will come as I have finals all week long. Hopefully by July things can go back to normal.
> 
> Until next time :)


	44. 43 Dark Wings, Lost Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjen has a lot to worry about, while Ned needs to impose his authority on yet another issue. Arya is angry she can't get what she wants and Rickon has a request.

**Chapter 43**

**Dark Wings, Lost Words**

 

Ayla watched her husband pace the length of the room as she sat on the armchair by the fire feeding their son. Benjen had been agitated ever since Jon’s raven that they were going beyond the Wall arrived, he had grown anxious with Daenerys’ announcement last night, but today he was exuding an anxiety she had not seen from him ever before.

“Alright, my love, would you tell me what is going on?”

“I hate this. This feeling of… of helplessness. I loathe it! I hated it when Lyanna left, I hated it when the raven about Brandon going south came, I hated it when my father followed him and I hated every single day of the Rebellion when I had to sit safely at Winterfell while my family was crumbling to pieces elsewhere. And now…”

“We’re not at war, love.”

“Don’t know if that’s better or worse.” He sighed, paused for a moment, then went back to pacing all over again. “Why did they go beyond the Wall? Are they mad?”

“Well, if you want to speak truthfully, there is a strand of…” she laughed at his glare. “They are _not_ mad, Benjen. You know Jon and Robb, they are responsible and intelligent. They wouldn’t undertake a mad quest for no reason. Besides, between the two of us, Addam would clock Jon in the head and drag him back home if it really was madness.

Benjen stopped, cocked his head to the side, and thought it over for a moment. “You have a point,” he admitted. “Addam would make sure he was safe.” He exhaled. “Alright, I'm slightly calmer now.”

“Glad to help,” Ayla said, amused. When he didn’t stop his pacing, she rolled her eyes. “What else is bothering you?”

“The eggs,” he answered after several moments and another lap, throwing himself on the armchair across from her.

“You know no one will think it suspicious. They’re Daenerys’ children as well,” Ayla said as Rickard moved back, having finished his meal, so she set her neckline to rights, putting him in burping position.

Benjen exhaled heavily. “That’s not what I'm worried about, though the more affinity they show to their Targaryen heritage, the more dangerous and unpredictable Robert’s reaction could be.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“Lyanna felt an immediate connection to her egg, and Little Addam too, they both went straight to them and the bond is so strong they sleep together.”

“Yes, I know. Mary said she tried to return the egg back to the box once and Lyanna immediately woke up and demanded it back. Still, what is worrying you?”

“Daenerys has had those three eggs since their wedding and nothing…” Benjen started.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ayla cut in, “she’s felt a connection. To the black one as a matter of fact.”

“Really?” he asked and she nodded. “Well, still, how many times wasn’t Lyanna in their chambers? How many times was she not in direct contact with those eggs? Has she felt any connection before?”

“No, not that I know of. Not that Dany has noticed either, I’d say, and Lyanna is not at an age she even understands what ‘lying’ or ‘hiding things’ are. But what are you trying to say?”

“I mean that those three eggs were said to have turned to stone with the ages. Now you told me Daenerys felt a connection with them, but she is a full-blooded Targaryen. But these new eggs… if it is true that the Valyrian dragons came from their volcanoes, then I think it’s reasonable to deduce that the eruption unearthed these ones. That they are recent, young enough that even watered-down Targaryens can feel the connection.”

“Oh, I see…” Ayla said and the silence stretched for a moment. “Did you tell your brother?”

Benjen exhaled heavily again. “Not in so many words. I couldn’t write that there were more _dragon eggs_ , nor that the children were honouring their mother’s family. He should be getting the raven today or tomorrow. Hopefully. I mean it’s not like the last two ravens I sent him didn’t go unanswered.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned didn’t know whether to be worried or exasperated when Lord Varys once again sneaked into his solar. “Do we have any more proposals from Casterly Rock?” he asked when they were seated.

“No proposals, no, Lord Stark, but you’re a fool if you think Tywin Lannister has been taken out of the game.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Varys, I know very well that the Lannisters are likely plotting how else to attack me and mine. What brings you by today?”

“This might sound like a strange question, but please do humour me, Lord Stark — when was the last time you have received a raven?”

Ned frowned. “You’re right, this a very strange question. But anyway, I received one just three days ago, I believe, from Lord Stannis, saying he will send a list of his best available sailors in a week or so.”

“I see… let me rephrase that: when was the last personal raven you have received? Say from your sons or your brother?”

Ned’s frown deepened at the question and more yet when he couldn’t readily find an answer. “I don’t… honestly, Lord Varys, I have enough in my mind. Arrive to the point, if you would.”

“But this is my point, Lord Stark. I’m not saying you should get daily or even weekly ravens, but doesn’t it strike you as odd that both your sons travelled to a hostile place on a diplomatic mission and there has been absolutely no word?”

“They… Lord Benjen would have…” Ned mumbled, feeling his stomach drop.

“But your lord brother also hasn’t sent any word, has he?”

“Lord Varys, I tire of your theatrics. Say it already!”

“One of my little birds is the Grand Maester’s steward. He just managed to bring me a few ravens he found lying about in Pycelle’s solar that had been… strayed from their intended recipients. There was one to Lord Renly, two to the King regarding his bastards — and those are dealt with by myself — and these,” he pulled a handful of scrolls from his pockets, “are all addressed to you.”

Ned took them, shocked. “They are all opened!”

“Yes, yes, they are. And I believe that the ravens that did reach your hand were all also opened and resealed.”

“Thank you, Lord Varys.” Then Ned raised an eyebrow. “I'm assuming you have read them as well.”

The Spider only smiled. “Oh, Lord Stark, but how could I resist, really? I’ll leave you to read them, but first I’ll say this: while I understand Pycelle, who is Tywin Lannister’s pockets, misplacing your correspondence, I quite don’t see the point of holding these back. Knowing you, and the likely reaction you shall have, I would have imagined the Lannisters would have rejoiced.”

Ned frowned again, but Varys had already stood up and he was too curious to go looking for even more riddles. The first scroll was from Edric, stating his delight that the betrothal was accepted and wanting to set up a date for his return to the capital so they could sign the betrothal and he could introduce his aunt Allyria. The second was from Robb saying that— he let his chin fall open in shock. His sons couldn’t be so daft to the point of crossing the Wall, could they?

The other three were all from Benjen. One, the oldest, spoke about the mad trip beyond the Wall and what did he think of it. The second repeated the same question, but differently enough to not imply that the raven had been lost. The third, dated twelve days before, spoke of Lyanna and Little Addam getting fancy new presents and how Dany had been so happy to bestow them. Ned was confused. His brother was obviously weary of sending obvious words and seemed to be aware the ravens weren’t being received — more than simply for not receiving a reply.

There was obviously too much happening up north. Robb and Jon had gone on a dangerous quest chasing legends they claimed to be real — Ned knew his sons too well to doubt them, but there was obviously more to the story than what fit into a raven scroll. And the last bit about gifts for the children… Benjen wouldn’t care to mention something so trivial in a raven he knew was likely to be intercepted, especially since he must have noticed that the other two had never arrived. He took a deep breath. It seemed like a voyage was in order.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Arya stomped her way out of the Red Keep’s forge. The armourer — the idiotic, stupid, ignorant male! — had refused to make her a dagger. She had Needle, but she didn’t have a dagger so she asked her lord father for the money and he gave her and Sansa leave to buy something. She had then marched right down to the forge (Sansa had obviously chosen a new dress) and the bloody man had said he wouldn’t have any weapons in the hands of little girls, because their place was sewing and playing with dolls. If she were older, he would have seen how good she was at sewing.

Needless to say, her blood had boiled and she was seeing red, but she had been in this southern hellhole they called a capital long enough to understand arguing with this toad would serve no purpose. She also knew her lord father wouldn’t even entertain her idea, so she decided to go to Ella.

“Absolutely not!” the lady exclaimed, disturbing Cregan — the baby was not happy. “Whatever possessed you to even ask that?”

“The armourer here won’t make me a dagger!” Arya exclaimed and Ella glowered at her. “Father gave me the money, Ella!”

“I’m not disputing that, nor am I censoring your choice of purchase. I’m simply saying that there is no way I’m allowing you to go to the Street of Steel, even with a full honour guard. That is no place for a twelve-year-old lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady!”

“Well, too bad, there is no changing that. You are not to leave the Red Keep.” Arya huffed and turned away but Ella called her back. “Do not disobey me, Arya,” she said in a grave voice, and the girl understood this time it was indeed deeply serious. “I allow a lot, but I will not allow this.”

“But if the guards…”

“The city is a dangerous place, especially to little girls. The next time either your lord father or I can go, I will talk to him about taking you with us. You are forbidden to leave the castle alone. And that is an order.”

Arya nodded. She had never seen her stepmother so serious and that perhaps is why she believed it was a reasonable order and not overprotectiveness. Still, she was fuming at being unable to do as she pleased. She wanted a dagger and… she stopped short. Well, she knew just where to get it.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella jumped up, startled, when the door to her solar opened abruptly. “Ned! By the gods, you gave me a fright! What is it?”

“How soon can you have us packed to go?” he asked.

She frowned. “It depends. Are we running for our lives, are we going for a family day out, or are we travelling?”

He chuckled at her antics. “Travelling. _Open-ended_ travelling. Robb and Jon went beyond the Wall.”

“You jest.”

“No, unfortunately I am not. Benjen just sent a raven. A third raven, actually, and the first two were ‘misplaced’ until just now. And there’s more he isn’t saying, I could feel it, so I just really need to get up there. After I tell Pycelle to stop messing with my correspondence.”

“That promises to be a fun conversation.” Ella smiled. “Go ask Lord Manderly how soon he can get us a ship and I’ll have us packed to go by then,” she said, already setting up lists in her mind.

“Good. I’ll go tell Robert.”

She smiled: ‘tell’, not ‘ask’. “You should also _tell_ him that it will be enough open-ended that we _will_ go to Winterfell. Cregan must visit.”

“Of course. I’ll send word from Lord Manderly before I go to the King.” He pulled her into his arms as she passed. “I love you.”

“Well, well, well, a northerner declaring his feelings so openly,” Ella said with a smile, pushing his dark brown hair from his face. “Who are you and what have you done with my broody husband?”

“Hey! I'm not broody! I’m serious!”

“Yes, you are, love. Both broody and serious, in fact. But you are _my_ broody. I love you too, for the record.”

He chuckled, kissed her briefly, but with no less passion, and left the room as Ella shook her head, amused. The way to Lord Manderly’s apartments was quick and the man more than accommodating.

“I can have a longship prepared to sail within the fortnight. I’m afraid the men needed for such are not so readily available. Unless you’d wish for a warship, since that requires more soldiers than sailors. I can have one of those in ten days.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary, my lord, we’re in peace times. A longship should do well. I’ll take half of my household guard with me, the other half will stay to ensure everything continues to run smoothly. I hope I can count on your help to make sure my interests are voiced in the Small Council.”

“Certainly, Lord Stark. I’ll make sure to stall anything I see as major or contrary to your views. I'm sure Ser Barristan can be relied on to ask the King to interfere.”

“I wouldn’t count on the King too heavily, Lord Manderly. He’s going into more and more frequent hunts these days. But I'm sure all shall be well.”

“As you say, Lord Stark. And if I may… would it be too big of an imposition to ask you to allow my granddaughters to join your party? They miss their lord father and lady mother, as well they should, and this seems too good an opportunity to pass on.”

“Of course not. I must stop at the Blessed Island, as my lord brother wishes for a word, but that shouldn’t take more than a day or two before I shall need to stop at White Harbour myself on my way to Winterfell. I shall be delighted to have the ladies’ company, and I am sure my lady wife and lady daughters will as well, and I shall, obviously, ensure their safe return home.”

Lord Manderly was very grateful and sent for his granddaughters to pack immediately. Ned continued on his way to Robert’s chambers. The King was alone inside and very deep into his cups, regardless of the high noon sun.

“Ned! (hic) whatcha doin’ ‘ere? Come, come, join me! Gre-grab (hic) grab a cup!”

Ned rolled his eyes and held back a sigh. “Robert, you’re supposed to hold court this afternoon, how do you expect to do so when you can't speak in complete sentences?”

“Bah! Court! Boooooring! Tha’s wha’ I ‘ave ya for!”

“Aye, I suppose it is a better option,” Ned muttered under his breath. “I came to tell you that I shall be leaving within a fortnight.”

“Leavin’? Why?”

“There’s trouble up North with the Watch and the wildlings.”

“Send Robb. Yer son is good, ‘e makes ya proud! You can trust ‘im, Ned! Send ‘im to sort it out.”

“I have sent Robb, and Jon as well, for that matter,” Ned said, wishing he could knock some sense into Joffrey. “But the situation seems to be more complicated than anticipated. I am needed not only as Warden of the North but as Hand of the King.”

“As Hand? Why? Watch has enough men and lands.”

“Enough lands, perhaps, but certainly not enough men. I’ll take this opportunity to empty our dungeons.”

“Fine, fine, send ‘em norsh! Yer not goin’.”

Ned huffed. “Robert, as my King, I respect you. But you chose _me_ to rule your kingdoms while you put on these pathetic displays of lack of self-control. There’s trouble breeding in the North and I _will_ go there to investigate,” he said, irritated at last. His patience had run out where Robert’s antics were concerned.

“That (hic) that ish no way two tawlk wish yer king!” Robert stood up from his chair, perhaps in an attempt to impose his authority, but he lost his balance and fell face first onto the rug nearby.

Ned rushed forward, trying to help in any capacity but then stopped short. Robert had flopped onto his back and was laughing with abandon as if this were the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. He took a deep breath.

“Ser Arys! Ser Boros!” Ned called and the two Kingsguards stationed at the door rushed into the room. “The King is unwell. Help him to his bed, so he can sleep it off.”

Then Ned stormed out of the room Robert’s laughter following him like a symbol of a very sad joke.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned was staring out his window into the city, thinking on the millions of people who depended on Robert’s drunken whims. One man threw away too much money in wine and entertainment and seven kingdoms had to scramble and have their taxes raised. He sighed. Raising taxes from the smallfolk, despite being wrong as they suffered the most, would make him popular with the lords; raising taxes from the lords would make them furious with the Lord Hand and with the King, and it would mean that ultimately the smallfolk would have their taxes raised anyway, since no lord would allow his own household to suffer. Curbing expenses had been a good start, but it wasn’t enough. They needed to find a new source of income, and soon, otherwise the realm would be facing too big a threat from the Iron Bank.

There was also the not so small issue of the lack of payment of what was due to the Night's Watch. For decades, even centuries, the Watch hadn’t received even half of what the law had stated they were to receive. He had known, ever since he was a lad, that the order was in decay, but he hadn’t given it much thought. The North had never ignored its duties to the Wall. But then again the North was the closest. It was hard to imagine that the southern kingdoms would even entertain the thought that the Night's Watch was anything other than an order created to have a place where to send criminals. Ned tried to imagine the exotic, desert-laden Dorne believing in ice monsters that brought winter and snowstorms — his imagination wasn’t that good. Besides, the mere geography made the cost too high and prohibitive for the southern-most kingdom to send prisoners, volunteers, or supplies up to the Wall.

As Hand, it would be his job to make sure that the proper taxes were paid and the law followed. He just needed to find a way to make it work reasonably. It made no sense to charge Dorne to pay a tax when more than double the amount due would be lost in the effort to guarantee its payment.

A timid knock on the door made him turn, and he smiled when Rickon sneaked only his head in. “Come in, son,” he said and the boy smiled and ran inside. Laughing, Ned picked him up. “What is it, little wolf?”

“I'm not little anymore, Papa!” Rickon exclaimed, a little angry. “I'm almost seven.”

“So you are,” Ned said, smiling. “But fathers have trouble seeing their sons growing up, you see. It’s so much nicer when you’re little kids.” _You can't go gallivanting beyond the Wall and give your old man wrinkles of worry then._ “So, what is your mission today?”

“Papa, I’m a big boy now,” Rickon said very seriously. “And I am a boy. I want to have lessons like Arya.”

Ned’s smile widened, but another knock interrupted his reply. Rickon deflated, knowing adult business would cut this most important conversation short. Jory walked in, smiling when he saw father and son together.

“The Grand Maester is here to see you, Lord Stark. I can take the little lord.”

“No need,” Ned said and the boy perked up. “Jory, please make sure the Grand Maester is comfortable and ask him to wait but a moment while I finish some very important business.” The guard frowned, but nodded. “And Jory? Make sure he _waits_ ,” Ned insisted and the other man nodded again.

“As you say Lord Stark,” Jory said, leaving the room.

Ned put Rickon down and pulled him to take a seat on the sofa. The boy was very excited: not only had his father not said no from the start, he was delaying work, asking the Grand Maester to wait, because of him!

“So Rickon, you were asking me for lessons. Why do you want to learn?”

“Because I want to be good with my sword, like you, Papa, and Robb and Jon. I watched their lessons with Ser Rodrik, they are very good. And I want to be a knight like Jon! Then Shaggy and I can go around the Kingdoms, saving people who need us!”

Ned smiled, ruffling Rickon’s hair. “But why not have lessons with Jory?”

“Because I like the way Syrio fights. He is e… ele… he is very nice.”

“Do you mean elegant?”

“Aye! It’s like the sword is his arm. And Arya beat Robb. Well, Addam said it was because Robb didn’t believe Arya was any good, but I know it was because she was fast. I want to be fast too. Maybe I can have lessons with Jory and with Syrio?”

“Very well. Let’s make a deal, shall we?” Ned asked and Rickon nodded, his eyes shining in excitement. “We will have to go North soon. In a fortnight.”

“Really, Papa?”

“Aye. And there is no use in starting your lessons now if we’re just going to stop them. But Jory will be coming with us, so he can keep on giving you lessons. So you can start having lessons with Jory tomorrow and when we come back you can have lessons with Syrio as well.”

“Yay!” Rickon exclaimed throwing his arms around his father. “You’re the best papa in the world!”

Ned chuckled, hugging him back. “Come on, now, go find your stepmother and see if she needs help with your brother.”

“Aye! I’ll go tell Cregan! I bet he’s going to be happy too!”

Ned nodded, smiling, thinking that his youngest was too young to discern individual words, let alone be happy about sword lessons, but he wouldn’t put a dent in Rickon’s excitement. He stood up, arranged all the raven scrolls in his desk and waited several more moments before pulling pen and parchment to compose a message to Benjen and asking Jory to allow the Grand Maester in, as well as sending for Maester Byren.

Slowed down by his age, it took Pycelle so long to reach the solar that Ned was nearly done with the message. Ned acknowledged his arrival, but still continued writing, seeing from the corner of his eyes how the Grand Maester was fidgety — he was certainly worried, and not without cause. Given his age, position, and prestige, people usually came to him, and he was rarely summoned, and though it was Ned’s prerogative to do so, he had never exercised it before. Finally, it seemed curiosity got the best of him.

“You…” Pycelle coughed. “You sent for me, Lord Stark?”

“I did, Grand Maester,” Ned said, signing his name and putting the wax to melt. “I'm very worried about the strains your responsibilities are putting on you, Grand Maester.”

“How… how so, Lord Stark? I…” he coughed again. “I assure you, I am very capable of fulfilling my duties to the realm and providing good counsel to His Grace!”

“Oh, of that I am quite certain. It seems, however, that the… _smaller_ duties have been proving to be a challenge to you. I understand, you see, that you deal with a lot and it is, sometimes, impossible to do so in a timely manner.”

“I am not following, Lord Stark.”

“I do not doubt your wisdom, Grand Maester, and that is not even in question. But to have so many duties… sometimes things pile up. You see, it has come to my attention that my lord brother had sent me three ravens, which I was unaware of.”

Pycelle was taken aback and looked at the scrolls neatly laid down on the desk. “My lord, I assure you…”

“There is no need to justify yourself, Grand Maester. As I said, I understand dealing with correspondence from all over the Kingdoms and to so many people… it can't be an easy feat. For this reason, I am taking this burden away from you.”

Pycelle finally let his face betray his emotions as he paled and showed horror. “Lord Stark, I am a maester from the Citadel, appointed by the Conclave to—”

“I'm not disputing your position nor usurping your authority, Grand Maester. I am merely wishing to make sure that from now all correspondence will arrive, unopened, to its rightful recipient,” Ned said and there was a new knock on the door. “Oh, Maester Byren, how good of you to join us. Grand Maester, you might be aware that I requested the Citadel to send another Maester to the Red Keep when my lady wife discovered her pregnancy. To not add to your troubles, obviously.”

“I had heard, yes,” Pycelle admitted, though he seemed to have swallowed something sour.

“So, as you are both in sworn service to the Citadel, I'm appointing Maester Byren to, from this moment on, be in charge of all ravens sent and received. I am sure you will be thankful for the extra time to impart your wisdom on your apprentices and on His Grace.”

“But… the rookery!” Pycelle exclaimed, dazed.

“Maester Byren will collect the key and learn any rules to his new duties when he goes to send this message to my lord brother. I merely need to seal it properly, to make sure only Lord Benjen will read it.”

Pycelle huffed, offended, but aware there was nothing he could say in his defence, and stood up, leaving the room. Maester Byren waited until the door had closed to speak.

“Is there anything specific you need from me, my lord?”

“Just make sure ravens are delivered properly and no one but the intended reader gets to read them,” Ned said and then sighed. “And though I hate this kind of intrigue, do tell me if there are any ravens coming from Casterly Rock or anywhere else in the Westerlands and to whom they are being delivered.”

“Of course, my lord. Shall I read them?”

“No. No, no, I won't stoop this far. Just knowing if they are coming should be enough. Thank you, Maester.”

The man bowed and left the room leaving Ned alone with his thoughts again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Having agreed to meet in the abandoned village of White Tree, Tormund led his group of wildlings away and the Watch started to pick up camp to return. They had managed to find enough lanterns amongst themselves to ensure there would be ready-fire at all times to light the torches: on Mormont’s command every brother was to hold a sword with one hand and a torch with the other. The Halfhand’s group left first, back to the Shadow Tower, and they left a few hours later, taking the path south. Though none of them liked Craster, his keep was a good point to break the journey — that and Sam was intent on rescuing Gilly.

“Alright, let’s raise camp!” Mormont commanded.

Men all around went up on their horses or started pulling their sleds. Jon looked towards the north, feeling Winterstorm warm under him.

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” Robb asked. Jon turned to see he was staring at the two direwolves that were playing with Ghost and Grey Wind.

“They might, at least as far as the Wall. There’s no telling, really.”

“Do you think we’ll have other guests tonight?”

“I hope not.” Jon shivered. “Seeing that wight was bad enough, seeing a bunch of them come at you is… they have no fear, Robb. They only attack you, as if their… well, as if their death didn’t matter. And the White Walker… gods, last night Sam’s potion knocked me out, but I’m pretty sure I’ll have nightmares about it for a while.”

It was Robb’s turn to shiver. “I hope they won’t come. I don’t need more nightmares.”

Jon frowned, but Robb had kicked his horse into a trot and he took it as a clear indication he wasn’t keen on talking anymore. Addam trotted up to him.

“How is the head?” he asked.

“No longer banging,” Jon answered. “I suppose this is the moment you say something along the lines of ‘I told you so’.”

“No,” Addam said and Jon raised an eyebrow. “If I tell you ‘I told you so’ — even if I fucking did tell you this is a crazy, stupid, ridiculous, reckless plan — all you’re going to do is roll your eyes and in five minutes you’ll concoct another absurdity to drive me mad with worry.”

“I'm not…”

“Don’t worry, you’re too much like your father for me to be surprised.” _Well, both your fathers, actually._ “And Ned Stark is nothing if not a stubborn aurochs.”

“He is your good-brother,” Jon said with a chuckle.

“Just because my sister loves him doesn’t mean I can't see that he is stubborn.” Addam sighed, looking around to check for ears. “I loved a man like a brother once, even if I did have a brother already. He also had the habit of letting his plans and idealism get in the way of reality. And he ended up floating downriver with his chest smashed in while most of his family was being butchered elsewhere. So no, Jon, this is not the moment I tell you ‘I told you so’. This is the moment I remind you that you have a wife and two children who love you, and who need you. Dany is a fine woman, but who is going to be there for her? Just because she _can_ do it all by herself, doesn’t mean she _should_. I can't tell her how you…” he exhaled. “How you won't come back. I just…” he looked around again, but they were alone on the ridge. Still, Addam lowered his voice so much it was hard to hear over the howling wind. “I had to tell Lyanna that Rhaegar wasn’t coming back, and I never thought a woman who was so strong could crumble down like that. Don’t make me tell Daenerys the same. Never mind her, I don’t think _I_ can survive that.”

Then he kicked his horse into a gallop and Jon was left alone with the howling wind, a frown, and a lot of confusion.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> I was going to post on Saturday, but I got so happy and inspired yesterday that the biggest chapter of the fic simply happened hahahaha  
> Go Brazil and LOL, take that, Germany.
> 
> School is nearly nearly over, but just saying, cheer for Brazil and hope our boys give me an awesome birthday present this coming Monday and you get an extra chapter. Because if they lose and make me sad on my birthday I'll certainly not be inspired to write XD


	45. 44 The Fire Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling from Jon's mad plans, Dany meets a new friend and comes up with a crazy idea herself. Ned, Ella, and the children arrive at the Blessed Island amidst more news from the events beyond the Wall, where their return to Craster's Keep brings a different enemy into the fold.

**Chapter 44**

**The Fire Within**

 

Daenerys sat up in the narrow bed from a jump, gasping for air, disturbed with the nightmare.

“A vision again, my lady?” the red priestess asked, standing by the window.

Dany looked to her, trying to get her breathing under control. “The same vision again.”

“All of it?” Melisandre asked and she nodded. “Tell me again, my lady. A small detail might help.”

Dany exhaled, sitting up with her legs crossed, rubbing her eyes. She had been having the same vision every night for weeks now, starting a few days before Jon’s raven about his mad expedition beyond the Wall came. A few days later, when she was still raving and ranting in fury about irresponsible, mad husbands, Melisandre of Asshai had arrived, speaking tales of promised princes and princesses and visions in the flame. When she got to the vision bit, Dany felt safe enough to confide about her recurring nightmares.

“It started as it always does,” Dany said, “a blue winter rose in a river, following the course down to the sea, where someone in a ship picks it up, I can’t see whom, and then this winter rose grows, then shrinks, and dies; then another winter rose growing in a chink of a wall of ice; a burst of fire and a winter rose lost amidst snow; then the winter rose again in a wall of ice, shrinking and shrivelling; then fire, so much fire, fire like… fire like I’ve seen before in a dream with a dragon; and that’s when I wake up.”

Melisandre frowned. There was no new detail to be had. “I’ve had a new vision in the flames, my lady. Knives hidden in darkness. That’s all I see.” Dany sighed. _What does it all mean?_ “Has the urge changed?”

“No,” Dany said, throwing herself back on the pillows. _A blue winter rose growing in the chink of a wall of ice_. How many walls made up of ice were there in the Known World? “I still feel the urge, the calling. I’m meant to be there.”

The Red Priestess smiled. “We shall arrive in the two days, my lady, the captain just told me. You should rest until then.”

Dany nodded as Irri came into the cabin and dismissed the red woman. Uncle Benjen had been silently furious, a cold fury to cause envy to the coldest of winters, while Aunt Ayla had been true to her Dornish blood and raised quite the heated argument. In the end, Little Addam had cried, making Rickard join him, Lyanna had thrown a tantrum to shake the entire castle, everybody was hoarse from screaming, and the _Lady Lyanna_ , their second best ship, set sail towards Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with Dany in the main cabin.

The voyage had been calm so far, but in a ship filled with men loyal to her, Dany hadn’t expected any different. The arrival at the Wall promised a whirlwind of adventures, most she was definitely not looking forward to. But she had brought a small army of men, twenty swords, so she was certain she was not going to be in any danger. Now dressed, she went up to the deck and they were nearly beneath the tall structure of the Wall.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” Ser Davos asked, coming closer.

“Yes. It’s marvellous!” Dany replied.

“I don’t usually believe in much, my lady,” the knight said, “but you can almost feel the magic in this place.”

Dany smiled softly. “Yes, I can feel it too. You know you didn’t have to come, Ser Davos.”

“Well, I figured a trip to see the Wall was something different. Besides I was…”

“Jon’s deal with Stannis Baratheon was for you to come help settle the navy. Not ferry his panicking wife across the North.”

He laughed. “If I may be so bold, my lady, you have nothing of a panicking empty-headed highborn. I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Good,” Dany smiled widely now. “I feel safer like this.”

They both turned back to the Wall in a companionable silence.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys looked at the courtyard around them as her group dismounted. The commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had been uncomfortable to see her and Melisandre, until Dany said she had brought food and ale for all of her soldiers and to share. The man had brightened up in a trice and had been more than eager to let her borrow wagons to bring the loads to Castle Black — without knowing how long Jon was going to be gallivanting beyond the Wall, and consequently how long she and her twenty swords would need to impose on the Night’s Watch, Ser Davos had suggested and Dany had brought a large supply. She only hoped whoever was left in charge was thankful enough for the ale to let her stay.

“Lady Starling!” called an unpleasant voice, though coated in honey. “You brighten the place with your presence!”

She turned to see an older man coming in greeting. He was smiling and the gesture seemed so alien to him that his face was unpleasantly contorted.

“I’m sorry for imposing, Ser…?”

“Ser Alliser Thorne, my lady. I’m the Master-at-arms and currently the Acting Lord Commander while Lord Commander Mormont is beyond. But come, come, let’s talk inside where it’s warm by a fire.”

Dany felt a shiver go down her spine, but then Ser Davos’ comforting presence stepped up beside her. “I’m assuming you have a place where we can store the goods we’ve brought? And to house our men?”

The Acting Lord Commander soured visibly. “Of course, of course. You three!” he called. “Show the men to their wing. The two of you can show where the pantry is.” Orys and three other guards stepped forward at Dany’s back, but the rest of them followed the stewards to the their rooms.

A steward, around five and ten years old, but small and frail-looking, came rushing from inside. “Ser Alliser. Lady Starling, Maester Aemon says he understands you must be weary from your travels, but that he wished to speak with you with great urgency.” He stopped, then paled, seeming to remember a second part of the message. “It is not bad news, my lady, but he wishes to speak with you as soon as it is convenient.”

Dany smiled. “Is it convenient now, if you would lead the way. Unless Ser Alliser…”

A big man to the side chortled. Dany saw he was missing an arm. “Not even Ser Alliser, from the top of his arrogance, would dare refuse Maester Aemon.”

“You should think better of your place, Noye,” Ser Alliser sneered. “Aren’t you ashamed to even be in her presence?”

The man wasn’t cowered. “No, I’m not. I make weapons, Ser, not yield them. Shouldn’t let the Maester waiting.” And with that he turned around and left.

“That’s Donal Noye?” Ser Davos asked and Ser Alliser only nodded.

“Who is Donal Noye?” Dany asked.

“Armourer,” the master-at-arms answered. “He armed Storm’s End before he lost his arm in the siege to the castle during the Rebellion and ended up here at the Wall. He’s the one who forged that cursed hammer.”

Dany stiffened. _A prince falling in the river, rubies exploding from his caved-in chest and, with his last breath, he spoke the name of a woman_. “I would like to see the Maester now.”

The young steward nodded, leading them through the castle to the library. “Lady Starling, Maester,” he announced.

The room was darkish, though there were several recently-lit candles burning. Dany felt warmth in her heart as she saw the elderly man standing up — it was the same warmth she always felt when around Jon, Lyanna, and Little Addam, what made her frown. Maester Aemon stood up and turned to them, an easy smile in his wrinkled face.

“You may go,” he said, “I wish to speak to the lady alone.”

“My lady…” Orys protested.

“Wait outside, Orys. No harm will come to me here,” Dany commanded.

Aemon chuckled. “Oh, the hot-headedness of youth! It gladdens my heart that you have such loyal men, Lady Starling, but I quite doubt I could hurt you, even if the thought ever crossed my mind.”

The guards and the steward left, and the two were alone. “Who are you?” Dany asked. “I feel… I feel like I know you.”

“Dragon blood calls for dragon blood, my dearest great-grandniece. Magic runs in our veins, and magic recognises magic.”

Dany gasped. “You’re Aemon Targaryen.”

“I was, once, before I gave it up for a chain and a black robe. I gave up the throne in favour of my brother, your great-grandfather.”

“Aegon V, the Unlikely.”

“Yes. I see Lord Stark gave you a good education, regardless of recent history.”

“Maester Luwin always said history is history and a rebellion doesn’t change it. Lord Stark would never deny what happened. He taught us that a hard truth is better than a pretty lie.”

The Maester smiled. “Lord Stark keeps growing in my esteem lately, and I’m so very glad for it.” They both chuckled. “I’m old, Niece, old and blind. Would you allow me to meet you properly?”

“Of course!” Dany smiled, closing the distance between them and raising his hands to her face. Maester Aemon smiled, tears falling from his eyes.

“I thought our House was gone, my sweet child. Then I heard you had survived, that the Usurper intended to shame you and our House by marrying you off to a northern bastard. But your husband is more honourable and a better man than most, so I dare say you are very lucky in this regard. The Usurper’s plan failed. The dragons still live, and I hear they shall live on. Two children, Jon told me.”

“Yes. And may the gods bless us even more.” Dany looked around at the insurmountable amount of books. “Uncle, what can you tell me about dragons?”

Maester Aemon reached for his chair and Dany helped him to it, taking the one next to his. “A queer question. I’ve read a lot when my eyes allowed me to. But like you, I’ve been born in a time without dragons.”

“Maester Luwin said Targaryens tried to bring back dragons for generations. Why did they fail? How can we succeed?”

Aemon frowned, reaching for her hand. “It was my belief our last egg was lost after the Tragedy at Summerhall. And even if not, the Usurper would not allow one to reach you, he would have seized it. But you speak as if you had an egg.”

“I do,” Dany said with a smile. “I have a few, actually,” she declared and the maester gasped. “I got three as bride gifts, eggs from the Shadowlands beyond Asshai that were said to have turned to stone with the ages.”

“And have them?”

“No. I can feel warmth from within them. And they have grown warmer after… after my son was born and I almost died. Jon said he can feel their warmth since then as well.”

Maester Aemon smiled widely. “It was written, in scrolls we had saved in Dragonstone, that only dragon blood felt their life. Dragons are magic, my child, and until they are hatched, nothing can snuff out their flame. They are warmer the more recent they are and, it is believed, they grow ever warmer when it is time to hatch.”

“Our lands sit on a volcano, Uncle…”

“Jon told me that it has recently erupted.”

“It has. Jon doesn’t know yet, because it was discovered after he left, but the eruption unearthed more eggs. They are warmer, they _feel_ alive.”

“Have you tried to hatch them, Daenerys?”

“Not properly… I… sometimes they call to me and I sit them by the fire. I…” she took a deep breath. “Ever since my… my almost-death, I’ve… I don’t know how to say it…”

“With words, Niece. I shan’t judge you.”

“The egg called to me and I placed it into the fire. Then I _held it into the fire_ ,” she told and the maester frowned. “I was not burnt, Uncle. I could hold my hand over this candle right now and I would feel only warmth.”

The maester gasped. “Where is the candle?” he asked and Dany guided his hand. Then she gasped as well. He held his old, wrinkly, fail-looking hand right through the flame. “I told you, child, magic runs in our veins. The blood of the dragon calls for the blood of the dragon. The dragon in the egg calls for you. You must set him loose.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned felt his stomach sink when he saw his brother’s stormy face as they neared the port. “Looks like something is wrong,” Ella said quietly at his side.

“Aye, it does,” he agreed.

Benjen greeted the girls and Rickon lovingly and smiled at the baby. “So is this my youngest nephew?” he asked, reaching over and shaking a tiny hand.

“Yes, it is,” Ella said with a smile, holding Cregan up. “Sweetie, say hello to Uncle Benjen.” The boy smiled, clapped, and reached for Benjen.

“I see you’re not as shy as your father, you lucky boy!” They all laughed as Ned rolled his eyes. “Why don’t we go inside the Guard Tower? Wait until they get the boats upriver ready.”

From the way Arya’s eyes narrowed, she found it extremely suspicious, but thankfully she just went along. They crossed the way to the Guard Tower and Ned allowed Sansa, Arya, Wynafryd, Wylla, Rickon, and Cregan to stay outside enjoying the nice day, overseen by the nurse.

“What happened?” Ned demanded as soon as the door closed, leaving only him, Benjen, and Ella in the room.

“I thought I shouldn’t send you another raven once I got your message you were already on your way North. Daenerys didn’t like the idea that Jon went beyond the Wall. She went after him.”

“SHE DID WHAT?” Ned exclaimed.

“Why? She can’t possibly hope to go after him beyond the Wall!” Ella added.

“I don’t think she even thought about going beyond the Wall herself. But she said she would rather wait in Castle Black than wait all the way down here.”

“And you let her go?” Ned asked furiously.

“What did you want me to do, big brother? Lock her in her chambers? Chain her to her bed? She is Lady Starling. I can counsel her, but she can make her own decisions, especially since Jon left her in charge.”

Ned groaned in frustration, passing a hand through his hair. “How long ago?”

“She is surely in Castle Black by now. And she took twenty men with her.”

“At least that!” Ned huffed. “What news do we have of what is happening in Castle Black? Why have they decided to cross?”

“Wildlings are crossing south more and more. And… honestly, I doubt Jon would lie about something like this...”

“Is this about the White Walkers?” Ned cut in. “Robb said in his raven that a wight, a reanimated corpse tried to kill the Lord Commander, but Jon stopped it.”

“Aye, that is what Jon wrote. He said they needed to go north to treat with this self-entitled King-beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder, to bring the wildlings south. And that’s all he had room to say.”

“To bring the wildlings south!” Ned exclaimed. “What madness is happening beyond the Wall that my sons have entertained such a recklessness?”

“White Walkers, apparently,” Ella said, shocked. Ned exhaled deeply beginning to pace. She reached out to him, entwining their fingers with a soft smile. “Just don’t do anything harsh, would you?”

He blushed deeply. “With Robb and Jon beyond, I won't promise not to cross.”

“I wouldn’t ask such a promise from you,” Ella said, her smile turning sad. “Just come back. Drag Jon, Robb, and my brother with you but _come back_.”

Benjen fidgeted, uncomfortable. “I’ll just… I’ll just check on the children. Make sure the boats upriver are ready for you.”

“For them?” Ned asked, frowning, turning around.

“Don’t worry, love, I'm sure Ayla and I can make sure the castle still stands when you come back.”

“I’m leaving Rellos and his guards behind, if you don’t mind bringing your own,” Benjen said. “They know the keep, they’ll keep them safe.”

“You’re right. But I’ve brought fifty men, I'm leaving ten behind,” Ned decided.

“Not Jory,” Ella said. “Jory is coming with you.”

Ned turned around to her, but she had that determined look on her face that he knew arguing would be difficult and most likely pointless. Besides, she and the children would be safe inside a well-protected keep and amongst family. “Fine,” he relented. “But Alyn is staying with you.”

Chuckling, Benjen left the room to check on the boats that would take Ella and the children upriver and the ones to take him, Ned, and the men back to a ship.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Their journey back to Craster’s Keep wasn’t without its troubles, as it was to be expected. They were ambushed by a large group of wights on their sixth night, but with everyone armed with torches, the casualties were kept to a minimum. Also, it was obvious that the White Walkers were wary of the unique weapon capable of hurting them, so they had seen only the foot soldiers, no lieutenants. They arrived, after a second attack, with less a third of their original group. Only Leeds and another guard were left of the five Jon had come with, and the Stark group had lost three out of their ten. Theon had gotten a nasty cut on his side that Sam had struggled with and they had had to hold the ironborn down so he could cauterise the wound.

“You’re staring too much, Sam,” Jon said as they got settled.

“I wonder where… where are all of them, really?”

“Wait for her to find you, Sam,” Robb counselled.

But Sam was restless. Finally one of the women passed by and he questioned her. “There’s a birth now,” the woman muttered before running away.

Sam felt a rock sink his stomach. Was he too late? He managed to locate a hut at the back of the keep where the screaming and confusion was taking place. Then he heard Gilly’s voice. “What is it? Is it a boy or a girl?” she was panicked.

“It’s a boy,” a sorrowful voice announced.

Gilly began to cry and Sam couldn’t help himself. He pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room. She saw him and her eyes shone with utter desperation. The other women all scrambled away, leaving them alone.

“Gilly,” he said quietly, “what happens to the boys?”

“The Free Folk follow the Old Gods of the Forest,” she answered hoarsely, “but Craster doesn’t. He worships demons of the night, and the boys are sacrifices to them.”

Sam felt like a White Walker had just showed up and frozen the air around them. “How long? How long until Craster takes him?”

“Tonight,” she replied. “Once it’s dark enough. He takes the boys and leaves them in the woods. Come morning, they’re gone.”

“How long until you can walk?”

She meant to stand up. “Right now!” she winced, lying back down.

“Hey, take it easy. I’ll get us a satchel with enough food and I’ll come back for you — it’s barely midday, if we leave just a bit before dark we’ll be on our way to Castle Black by the time Craster comes for the baby.” Her eyes shone with hope, though the feeling was alien to her. Then she nodded and blinked, and Sam saw pessimism take her over. “Gilly, look at me. I will come back in just a bit. We _will_ leave. We will get to Castle Black and we will move further south. I promise.”

She nodded, but Sam could see she was afraid to hope. Looking at the place around them, he could understand her just fine. He left the little hovel and went to where his group was gathered. Theon was thankfully not there, and Jon, Robb, and Addam were only too eager to help, especially once they heard about the sacrifice bit.

“You take the Starling guards and head south,” Jon said. “Don’t forget to keep lanterns on you. Go straight to Castle Black, walk as fast and as long as you can each day. We should be only a day behind you, but we’ll stop at White Tree. However, if you’re in Castle Black, there is no way Craster can try anything.”

“We should try to get the other women out as well,” Addam said.

“Aye,” Robb agreed. “Craster won’t stop raping them, so even if he gives up the chase on Gilly’s son, there might be others. I don’t know what the Others do with the boys, but whatever it is, I don’t want them having it.”

“If he weren’t an old man, I’d challenge him to single combat,” Addam muttered. “But he is, so it wouldn’t be fair or honourable.” Everyone chuckled.

“Sam, you should take the daggers, the horn, and the inscription to Maester Aemon,” Jon said. “Use the time until we get there to try and figure out what it means. And figure out why they used daggers made up of glass.”

Sam agreed and added the items to his satchel. They’d need to travel light if they were to walk a lot and fast, so he took only them, a small bottle of the pain potion, and food, leaving his other medicines and things to be brought in the sleds. It was just before sunset when he was trying to get to the little hovel and, thankfully, one of the black brothers provided a welcome distraction by getting into an argument with Craster over his stinginess with food. In the mess that erupted, Sam took Gilly and the baby and they slipped away unnoticed with the two guards into the darkening woods.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Robb, Jon, Addam, and even Theon were trying to figure out a way to create a diversion to allow Sam and Gilly to escape. They knew once Craster realised the trick, he would be furious and likely never allow the Watch to return. However, the Lord Commander had already said he had no intention of coming back beyond the Wall and, if it all worked out with Mance Rayder, there would be no need to ever use this hellhole as a refuge ever again.

“Where’s that useless girl? Is she still moaning in pain?” Craster asked and the five women about trembled. “Answer me!” he yelled, startling them.

“She’s recovering. The baby was born already,” answered the oldest.

“Well? Then what is it? Another wife for me?” he laughed loudly, quite into his cups already.

The other women were visibly nervous, but he was too drunk to notice, and the oldest wife seemed to have it under control. “It was a girl, husband. But she was stillborn.”

“Argh!” he exclaimed, throwing his cup across the room. The youngest girl, around two-and-ten, went to fetch it and disappeared into the darkness instead of returning. “Useless wench! Where is she? Snivelling and crying?”

“She didn’t make it. Bled out,” the woman answered stoically and Jon was shocked.

Craster didn’t have time to reply, though, as the keep had descended into chaos. Two of the men of the Night's Watch had let their unhappiness with the danger and the scarcity of food take the best of them and had confronted Craster on the quality and amount of food offered. Mormont tried to interfere, getting his men under control, but the two rebels weren’t listening and refused to take any orders.

It nearly ended in tragedy, and only Addam’s timely interruption saved Mormont from a knife from one of his malcontent men, Rast, as the other, Karl Tanner, succeeded in getting past Robb and Jon with dirty tricks and got his knife through Craster’s chin, killing him. Rast took one of the wives as hostage and managed to escape, given that Addam would never risk a woman. He didn’t go far, though, as Ghost cut his escape short, dragging his carcass back to the keep. Tanner also didn’t go far, as Jon recovered and was able to subdue him and, for daring to raise a knife to his Lord Commander, he was sentenced to death. The rest of the unhappy brothers retired quietly so as to avoid the same fate, ending the mutiny before it actually took place.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was well past dark when Sam, Gilly, and the guards found another abandoned village. The guards immediately went to gather enough wood for a fire, and Sam went to set up the bedrolls.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when Gilly returned from the partition to the back of the little house, where she had gone to feed the baby.

“Tired and sore,” she answered with a shrug.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said sheepishly. “I wish we could wait for you to recover.”

“No. No, we have to walk. How much further?”

“A few days. The more we walk, the faster we’ll get there. I’m sorry, Gilly.”

“It’s alright,” she waved his concern off. “I just want to get there.”

They frowned when the sound of several crows cawing. Then there was a crack outside and Sam turned to the door. “Leeds?” he called. “What is it?” There was another crack, then the sound of a sword unsheathed and steel on steel. Sam cursed under his breath, looking for a weapon and finding the short sword he had taken in haste. He reached for a torch, happy that at least that they would have, and rummaged through his satchel for anything else that might help, finding only the strange dragonglass daggers. He took one and turned to the door just as it was burst open.

Gilly screamed, the baby begun crying, and Sam paled. Reading about it on books, hearing Jon’s description, neither of it had prepared him for the shock of seeing a White Walker. It had a cruel face etched in ice, and its smile upon seeing the baby in Gilly’s arms was terrifying.

“Stay back!” Sam exclaimed.

The terrible smile on the White Walker’s face grew even more sinister. The crows were still cawing outside, causing quite the raucous, and the Other raised its hand almost in mockery to hold the trembling point of Sam’s sword. The regular steel crumbled to dust and the smile on the creature’s face only grew as it stepped forward and with a simple backhanded move threw Sam across the little room.

“No! No! Leave us alone!” Gilly yelled.

Sam stood back up in a daze. His ears were ringing over the sound of the birds outside, and all he could process was the fear in Gilly’s voice and face, the creature coming ever closer to her. He took the dragonglass dagger, the only weapon at hand, and didn’t even stop to think it would be another failure, he just threw himself forward.

“Stay away from them!” he exclaimed as well, burying the dagger in the White Walker’s back.

The creature stiffened and wavered on its feet. Leeds rushed into the hut, his sword frozen away as well, though he held the pommel out of habit, and he stopped short as he witnessed the bizarre scene. The White Walker screeched in pure agony, falling to its knees as it became even more alike to ice, and suddenly, with a last agonising scream, it threw his head back and burst into a thousand shards of ice. Sam could only watch as the black dagger fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“Come on, we have to move,” said Leeds stepping more into the room. “Come on, Lord Tarly, we have to go!”

Gilly regained movement and started to walk forward, jarring Sam into standing up as well, going to pick up their satchels. The guard picked up the fallen dagger and threw his useless sword aside, taking two torches with him.

“The other guard is dead,” he announced. “We have to burn him in the way, and hope these creepy crows won't harm us. Come on, we have to walk more. I'm sorry, my lady, but we can’t stay here.”

“You’re right,” Sam agreed in a daze. “Let’s move!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, extra chapter to celebrate Brazil's triumph over Mexico! Next chapter should come on Saturday and, if Friday brings another victory and therefore inspiration we will have an extra scene -- you can pick: Robert's reaction to Ned's departure or another sneak-peak into the future ;D
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed this one!


	46. 45 Sea Salt and Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finally gets what she wants while Jon and Robb have to play mediator to two ancient enemies. Sam and Gilly finally arrive at Castle Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is GoT I highly doubt it would offend anyone who read the books or watches the show, but just to be safe: this chapter is not for kid's eyes.

**Chapter 45**

**Sea Salt and Sweat**

 

Arya sneaked away as soon as breakfast was over. Ella and Aunt Ayla had their hands full with the business of running the castle by themselves and with Rickard, Cregan, and Little Addam, who had become fast friends. In the interest of not leaving them lonely, the two women decided to have all three boys in the same nursery room. Lyanna had been initially jealous and Ayla had said she could join them — she had changed her mind and asked her nurse to go back to her own nursery in the middle of the night with all the noise.

So now the youngest she-wolf made her way through the keep down to the forge, Needle disguised in a package under her arm, lest someone try to be funny and take it from her. She ignored the smithies and apprentices out front, going straight to the back, where she was hoping— ah! There he was! Once again he had foregone the use of a shirt, though the stuffy heat of the forge around them was more than enough justification, and once again the little boy, Drennan, was hanging to his every word like an apt pupil.

“Excuse me,” she called out, getting their attention, making them both jump up and stand straighter. “I need a smith.”

Gendry chuckled. “Of course, milady. What can I do for you?” They were both smiling, now: it was the third time they met, and for the third time Arya started the conversation like that. This time, Gendry didn’t bother to put his shirt back on in a hurry.

“A smith and an apprentice?” Drennan asked, his face filled with joy.

“Of course,” Arya said, laughing at his enthusiasm. “Between us, I doubt he’ll be capable of doing it by himself.”

Gendry snorted, but was amused by the joke. “What can I do for you, milady?”

“I’ve asked you to not call me that.”

“And I’ve told you I can’t.” Gendry shrugged.

Arya rolled her eyes. “I want to commission a dagger.”

“Alright. How do you want it?”

“Won’t you ask who for and haggle the price?” Arya asked.

“I’ve told you I make weapons for House Starling, milady. As far as I know, you’re family. Doubtful Lord Starling would mind. And I don’t care who for.”

“Even if it’s for myself?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I would feel compelled to check with the castle then. Not for myself, but because I don’t want no trouble with the lords.”

“Look at this,” Arya said, setting the package on a table and unwrapping Needle. “Lord Starling gave it to me on my name day two years ago. And my lord father gave me leave and money to buy a dagger.”

“So as far as I see it there’s no trouble,” Gendry said coming closer and lifting the sword to take a closer look. “A dagger this skinny would never work, it’d be too weak.” He gave her an once-over. “You know how to use this?”

“My lord father hired a tutor,” Arya answered, smiling at his shock.

“Well, in that case, you need speed and elegance. How soon do you need it?”

Arya bit her lip. “I don’t know… but I suppose I should have a while. I’d rather it was done perfectly than in a rush.”

“I’ll have it to you as soon as I can, milady.”

“Wait!” she stopped short, looking at Needle again. “Can you make another sword like this?”

“A Bravoosi blade? Sure,” Gendry said with a shrug.

“Good. My little brother is starting lessons, I'm sure he’d like that.”

Gendry snorted. “All due respect, milady, but you Starks are quite different.”

Arya shrugged, taking an apple from her satchel, throwing it at Drennan, and sitting on the worktable to eat a second. Nymeria sat across from her with a pleading look so, rolling her eyes, Arya threw her another apple. She knew she needed to be back in time for the feast in honour of Rickon’s name day, but there was still enough time for that. And there was nothing else better to do, since the rain outside wasn’t good weather to ride. At least watching Gendry work would provide respite from the baby-led chaos in the castle.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

After their departure from Craster’s Keep, it took them another ten days to reach White Tree. The village was no longer sporting the abandon they had encountered on their way north, but each of the four houses was expelling smoke, showing that a fire was lit inside, and the guards at the perimeter were all carrying torches. They were led to the biggest house, clearly a place for reunions, where Mance Rayder expected them while the other men of the Watch were to set up camp and grow the perimeter.

“Well, well, well, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, the Old Bear. It’s been some years.” A tall man spoke as they were led inside, standing from his chair.

“It has,” Mormont agreed. “Ever since you betrayed your vows and—”

“A shield to guard the realms of men, Lord Commander,” Mance quoted. “I protect men just as you.”

“It is an honour to meet you,” Robb said, trying to keep the peace. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

Mance turned to him, looking him over. “That direwolf is quite telling. You must be Robb Stark. And you,” he kept looking around the group, “must be Jon Starling, given the blue cloak and the flower sigil. We met once, when I visited Winterfell, though you two were no more than mischievous green boys. But you, Lord Starling, Tormund spoke of you. It seems we have you to thank for discovering how to stop wights and White Walkers alike.”

“Both were happy coincidences,” Jon said humbly, his ears turning red. “They were the only weapons at hand. And not the reason we’re here.”

“My lieutenant says you have a proposal,” Mance said as Tormund and three other men walked in. “Very well, Lord Starling, you have the floor. Convince me to work with you. Better, convince me that dying for you, for the Seven Kingdoms, is better than fighting for my people and my home.”

Jon took a deep breath, gathering his wits. He had been thinking over words and arguments and hypothesis ever since the idea first came into his mind, but still he thought that he would be no good in voicing them.

“The time for enmities must be behind us,” he started. “Now is the time for us to work together and survive. White Walkers don’t care if you’re Free Folk, a man of the Watch, or a southerner: from everything we’ve seen, they only want to grow their ranks. They will kill whoever is in their way, regardless of what sigils or colours they fly. If the Free Folk stay up here, it’s only a matter of time before there’s none of you left alive. They’ll have grown their ranks and your people, your culture, will be exterminated. Then they’ll continue on their path to death and destruction and your loss will have meant nothing. _You_ will have meant nothing. The Free Folk will be nothing more than a footnote in history, an annoyance that used to plunder the North. No one will remember you, it will be as if you never even existed. Your culture, your conquests, and even your failures, all vanished into the cold, icy air. But not the Others. They’ll come to the Wall and eventually they will breach it. Maybe the Seven Kingdoms will fail to stop them as well, but by then it will be too late for the Free Folk anyway. But if you join us, if you come south, you’re right, you will be fighting. But not _for_ us. _With_ us. They are hard to kill and while death stops us, it only strengthens them. But if we fight, together, if we forget our differences, then they don’t stand a chance. This is not about petty fights over who is the rightful settler in the North or who gets to be behind a Wall. This is about surviving. And only if we unite, if we pool our strength and our resources will we be able to beat back an enemy that thrives not in victory, but in death.”

_A true leader indeed,_ Addam thought with a smile. _You’re your father’s son, Jon._ He bit back a chuckle. _Your mother’s preferred method of diplomacy involved a sword, not warring with wits_. Everyone in the room was touched with the words. All but one of Mance’s men.

“I don’t care for fancy words, lordling. You’re not my leader, you’re nothing to me. You might not be a crow, but you’re still the enemy. I say you take your fancy words and get the fuck out. We know people like you. You come here with empty promises and as soon as—”

“Enough, Styr!” Mance called.

“I don’t have to—”

“You have proclaimed me your King, you have to shut up when I tell you to.”

“No, I don’t,” Styr growled in response. “I chose you, I can just as easily change my mind. And you won't waste time chasing me and my people down, because you’ll be too busy being slaughtered.”

He picked up his axe and left the house, slamming the door shut in the process. Tormund watched him go with a scoff. “I fucking hate Thenns.”

Mance turned back to the meeting. “I suppose universal agreement in the first try was always going to be impossible. And there are too many details to sort out, but I have to say: I’m convinced.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_The room was smelling like sea salt and sweat — a common smell now during the warmest part of the year, when they could leave windows and their balcony door open. Maybe tomorrow Dany would have Irri and Doreah spread more flowers, but for now the smell of sweat only hiked her arousal. Jon was determined to make their last night before his departure count and so far she had no complaints._

_“Jon! Oh, gods! Kostilus, paktot konīr! Jon!” (*Please, right there)_

_He chuckled and redoubled his efforts, his magical and talented mouth buried in her folds, prying a second intense release from her._

_“I love it when you speak Valyrian,” he spoke on her ear, sliding over her body as she tried to gather her wits._

_She moaned, highly sensitive, pushing his wandering fingers away and pulling him down for a deep kiss of battling tongues. Dany used a moment of distraction to roll him beneath her and angled her hips to circle right where he wanted, driving him to madness._

_“You should learn to stop teasing,” she said, biting from his earlobe down his neck and to his muscled chest. His eyes shone dangerously when she bit his nipple._

_“Never!” he exclaimed with dark promise._

_Dany smirked but, before she could react otherwise, Jon had rolled them over and turned her on her front, thrusting inside easily with how wet she was. They groaned in unison at the pleasure of being together. Dany clenched her fists on the bedding, looking for purchase as she followed his movements and rose onto her knees — she had provoked her sweet husband and now he had let the wolf loose to claim his prey. Oh, and what a willing prey she was!_

_Jon cursed under his breath as he felt her getting closer, her inner muscles clenching around his cock, and he tried to hold back his own pleasure. He sneaked a hand around his wife’s hips, down to where they were joined, and Dany yelled out with the stimulation, the coil in her stomach tightening to the point of—_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Daenerys woke up suddenly when her forehead went straight against the wooden desk. Hot and bothered from her dream, or rather, from the reliving of a very good memory, she rubbed her eyes, trying to rub away their soreness. She wanted to keep reading, as the book was very interesting, but she thought that given the throbbing developing in the back of her brain, it was time to stop. Also, it was in her best interests to return to her chambers for a proper ‘reliving’ of this most pleasurable memory. She was halfway out of the library when Wex walked in. “The armourer just sent word, my lady. He’s done what you’ve requested of him and he’d be most honoured if you came to see it. Though he can have it sent up.”

“Oh, no, I’m going to get it. I’m sick of my room, this library, and the long path between.” She smiled when she saw the guard scrunch up his face. “You would rather I stayed in, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would, my lady. It would make my job easier. But I don’t blame you.”

Dany smiled, fastened her fur cloak around her shoulders and they left the library, another three guards joining the entourage. While the air outside was cold and foggy, the forge was warm and inviting.

“Lady Starling,” Donal Noye greeted. “Come by the fire. I’ll fetch it.” He walked to the back and Dany walked further closer to the forge — she was the blood of the dragon and the cold didn’t become her, even after being raised in the North. “Here,” he said, coming back. “What do you think?”

Dany looked over the pommel with a smile. After Uncle Aemon had told her about the Lord Commander’s gift to Jon she thought the sword needed more than a generic pommel, being ancient and so valuable as any blade of Valyrian steel. After a little push from the wise maester, she had decided to commission such pommel from Donal Noye, to show that she agreed with his statement on the day of her arrival: he made weapons, and weapons were blameless. Robert Baratheon had killed Rhaegar, not his warhammer, and if Noye hadn’t forged the hammer, Robert would have found himself another weapon to wield. He had been honoured, accepted the job immediately, and together they came up with the perfect solution.

A sword named Longclaw deserved a fitting claw, so Noye had found sturdy wood and white paint to carve Ghost. Dany had had to give up one of her ruby earrings to make his eyes, but she hadn’t minded a bit. To truly make a blade of House Starling, though, she had asked to have a jewelled rain guard — though she didn’t have any winter diamonds with her, she was sure Gendry would be able to set one when they returned home.

She was about to thank the armourer when a faint horn sounded, followed by one closer by. She looked up to him in askance, her heart racing.

“Riders from beyond, my lady,” Noye said. “Someone is coming from the north.”

Daenerys felt her heart fail a beat and, with a rushed goodbye, she left the forge in a rush of skirts, hearing Wex and the other two guards following.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sam led Gilly past the gate of the tunnel. Despite her initial awe at seeing the tall structure of the Wall, she was tired, sore, and hungry. They had spent the past fortnight crawling through the Haunted Forest, walking for over half the day, eating the hardtack and dried meat Sam had managed to bring in his satchel. Once, Leeds had managed to shoot a fox, but the poor animal had been so thin it was barely sustenance. They had run out of wine three days ago and had had to resort to boiling snow in a pot over the bonfire to have water.

There was a thundering of hurried footsteps and Sam blinked, thinking his eyes must be wrong, that his exhaustion must be playing tricks on his mind, because he was seeing Daenerys rush down the tunnel to meet them.

“Sam? What happened? Where is Jon? Why is he not with you?” she asked, frantic, looking over his shoulder. “Leeds, where is Lord Starling?”

“We split up, my lady,” the guard answered.

Dany looked over them, frowning when she saw Gilly. “What happened?” she insisted. “Where is my lord husband?”

“We needed to bring Gilly and her son to safety, Dany,” Sam said, recovering from the shock. “Jon, Robb, and the others were going to meet the King Beyond the Wall, they’re a few days behind us.”

“He is just fine, milady,” Leeds tried to soothe her. “It’s just a parley now. He’s in a village just a few days away.”

“Good, it should be a short trip. Leeds, go find food and a bed, Wex, gather—”

“All due respect, my lady, but I'm going to insist,” Wex said. “Lord Starling would rightfully have my head if I let you cross.”

“I won't let that happen.” Dany waved his concern away. “Gather the men we brought, supplies, and—”

“No, Dany.” Sam joined the chorus. “Jon would be furious. It’s too dangerous, we barely made it ourselves.” The baby cooed, interrupting the argument. “Please, Dany,” he insisted. “You have no idea of what is crawling beyond the gate.

She clenched her jaw, itching to go beyond, to be reunited with Jon. But the state of the three people before her spoke highly of the danger so she reluctantly agreed to think better on the issue. Huffing in annoyance, she stepped up to hug Sam.

“I'm glad you are alright, Sam.” She smiled. “Leeds, report to Orys, I’ll have hot food sent for you, then seek your bed. I don’t want to see you at a watch for the next three days. Wex, warn the kitchens and ask for baths to be sent up for Lord Tarly and Lady Gilly.”

“I'm not a lady,” the woman mumbled, scared.

“You are if I say you are,” Dany said. “Come, the fire in my room is lit and I'm sure we can find a dress that fits you. Besides, this little one needs to have a good night’s sleep. Are any of you injured?” she asked as they made their way back to the courtyard of Castle Black.

“Mostly sore,” Sam said with a shrug. “But Gilly has been walking everyday since hours after she gave birth.”

“Oh, my!” Dany exclaimed. “Wex, send for my uncle as well, tell him we have need of his skills.”

“No, no! I'm fine, I don’t need…” Gilly nervously said, turning to Sam for help.

“There no need to worry, Gilly,” Sam said. “Maester Aemon is a maester from the Citadel, he’s a healer. He’ll only help you.”

“Sam can stay just outside the room,” Dany said, “and if you would like I can be there with you. I just think you should be seen to. I have two children, I know what childbirth is like, and I tremble to think how you must be feeling after having to walk so much.”

Gilly held on to her baby, visibly anxious, but only nodded. Dany frowned at her reaction, but didn’t dare ask so openly. Up in her room, Irri took one look at the wildling’s wide-eyed look and understood the whole situation. She shooed Sam, Dany, and Doreah from the room and closed the door behind herself and Gilly. By the time Maester Aemon came, a steward with a bowl of oatmeal right behind, the two were giggling inside.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_Their bedchambers were warm, too warm, though the fireplace was unlit. The song of flesh against flesh, moans, and groans was no strange occurrence in the room._

_“Jon! Oh, Jaes, kessa!” Dany yelled out when the third climax ran through her. (*Oh, God, yes!)_

_Jon grunted, holding back with all of his willpower to resist her clenching muscles and the words in Valyrian — he didn’t know why they affected him so, perhaps it was their exoticness, or perhaps it was just Dany being Dany, without having to hold back her family heritage because of a political feud._

_“You alright?” he asked, kissing a trail up her back._

_“Sepār vok,” she answered in a languid voice, letting her jelly-like legs go and flattening both of them to the bed. (*Just perfect.)_

_Jon chuckled as he rolled to the side so as not to crush her, slipping out with the movement, and getting groans of protest from both of them._

_“I might like it when you speak Valyrian,” he murmured against her skin incapable of letting her go, his blood pumping quickly and begging for release, “but I don’t actually understand it.”_

_“Istia gūrēñagon, pār,” she said, once again rolling them over and straddling his hips. (*You must learn, then.)_

_But she was no longer interested in teasing, sliding down and sheathing his cock to the hilt in one swift move._

_“Fuck, Dany!” Jon exclaimed, his eyes, dark with arousal, shining in the candlelight._

_He held on to her hips, helping guide her sloppy movements as her legs still hadn’t recovered from her three releases — he had felt guilty in the beginning, but now he knew she relished the finger imprint marks as the results of a pleasure-filled night._

_They held each other’s gazes, grey and violet darkened with carnal designs, as they climbed to the edge of pleasure they were so well-practiced in finding. Jon felt her clenching again and—_

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Wakey wakey!” Robb’s voice jarred Jon from sleep and the great memory he had been relieving in his dreams. Jon groaned in frustration, punching his bedroll. “Were you having a nice dream, brother?”

“Fuck off, Robb. Why’d wake me?” Jon asked, irritated, turning to his back and staring at the ceiling of the little house they were in.

“Was it a naughty dream?” Robb asked, amused. “Tsk, tsk, brother, we’re in an important diplomatic trip.”

“Aye, it is an important diplomatic trip — a successful one at that — but I haven’t seen my wife in three moons, and the gods know how long until I'm home. You get to judge once you’re married,” Jon said grumpily.

“I'm not judging.” Robb sighed. “I haven’t… ever since I gave my word to Margaery, I have been honouring it.”

“Good for you,” Jon said, still acidly.

“I get what you said, you know. I… just… when we went to Uncle Benjen’s wedding, when we went to King's Landing, every letter I’ve received, I can see how Father is different. Happier. I'm not saying that it’s my mother’s fault, but anyone can see the difference between an arranged marriage and a love marriage.”

“Robb, Dany and I were an arranged marriage, you know that. We were betrothed before we could even crawl out of our cribs. Father and Ella fell in love, so did Uncle Benjen and Aunt Ayla, but love can be built too. Dany and I fell in love because we spent time together and we first became friends and we learnt each other’s personalities and then we grew to love each other. It wasn’t automatic and it wasn’t easy.” Jon sat up in his bunk. “Look, I'm not saying I'm an expert in marriage, and it’s not always all perfect. It’s an eternal work, that it is. And if you want it to truly work, you have to be honest.”

“I already messed up in that regard,” Robb confessed, blushing. “It wasn’t intentional. I just never thought to tell her that there had been an assassin in my chambers at Winterfell.”

“Great, big brother. Margaery was only in the Midnight Fortress for a few moons, but I can't tell you for sure she _did not_ like that.”

“No, she didn’t. She sent me a raven scolding me. I sent a long letter in response.”

“Please tell me you had enough brains to tell her you were coming here,” Jon censored.

Robb’s blush deepened. “I told her I was coming to Castle Black and that you’d meet me. I didn’t…” his blush deepened. “I didn’t tell her I was actually coming beyond the Wall.”

“Hard work, big brother,” Jon said, standing up and patting Robb’s back on his way out of the house. “You better think of very good grovelling words.”

“Is this payback because I woke you up?” Robb asked.

Jon only laughed as Ghost came to greet him and they went in search of breakfast.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

In the interest of not wasting any daylight moments, the men of the Night's Watch and the Stark guards went on finishing packing up camp and beginning the trek further south as Lord Commander Mormont, Robb, Jon, and Mance Rayder met for a last Council.

Negotiations had been hard, as neither side was too keen to give in. Finally, it was decided that, in the interest of respect, the Free Folk would keep their own traditions — minus the cannibalism — but they wouldn’t force these traditions on anyone from the Seven Kingdoms they came across. The Thenns, already unwilling to work together, drew the line there and said that if they couldn’t exercise the most fundamental of their traditions, they wouldn’t even consider the idea. Styr took his men and they left the village the same day.

On the topic of forming new Houses, tensions rose again. It was the power of a Lord Paramount to create a new major House and to authorise a major House to create a minor House. However, the Free Folk were to live in the Gift, under the authority and in the lands of the Night's Watch, who couldn’t give any titles. Mance Rayder insisted on being given a castle and being named Lord Paramount of the Gift, saying it was only fair as he was giving up his sovereignty as king.

Though Jon and Robb agreed a castle was a fair and reasonable request and that their Father would probably agree, the bigger problem laid on the next of Mance’s demands — the Free Folk would not kneel. They would respect the Night's Watch authority and integrity, as they would live in their lands and pay taxes, but they would not kneel to the Warden of the North and much less a southron king. Mance Rayder wanted to rule the Gift as an extension of his kingdom, and that would never work.

“We can't make promises that are not ours to keep,” Robb said after much argument. “What we can do is speak with our lord father, the Hand of the King, and see what concessions the Iron Throne is prepared to make.”

“How about we propose the creation of House Rayder and you would rule over the Free Folk, respecting and paying taxes to the Night's Watch and respecting the border with the North?” Jon suggested.

“The Free Folk will accept no hereditary titles,” Mance insisted.

“In the Iron Islands we have the kingsmoot,” Theon said. “The candidates state their proposal and the people vote their leader.”

“There hasn’t been a kingsmoot in thousands of years and the Iron Islands have no king,” Robb said. A kingsmoot would mean multiple Houses and the potential of creating more if the chosen leader didn’t already have a title. They weren’t even sure they could get _one_ House.

“But the idea pleases,” Mance said. “I earned my title by strength, that is what the Free Folk respect. That is their culture and you have promised to not strip it away.”

“We shall speak with the Lord Hand to see what proposal the Iron Throne is prepared to accept,” Jon intervened.

“Good enough for now,” Mance agreed. “I must return to our main village, but I shall leave a group of my trusted men and women to negotiate. You know Tormund, he is a lieutenant, and this is my good sister, Val, she will be my ambassador. Orell, as you know, is a warg, and he can devise a way to send me a message quickly. Until we meet again, my lords.”

The meeting dispersed then, though Jon wanted to groan in frustration. Theon was ogling Val as if she were a fine flagon of iced wine amidst a desert. He elbowed Robb and nodded towards the potential problem.

“Fuck, Theon,” Robb grumbled under his breath. “Come on, Greyjoy, or you’re gonna be caught in the rear guard,” he called out, dragging the ironborn out of the house.

“That woman strikes me as someone who can defend herself,” Addam said quietly to Jon.

“I quite agree. If he tries anything, chances are he won't even know what hit him,” Jon said.

“Great,” Addam snorted, “I'm sure his father will be ecstatic to learn that we lost his son to a girl. The ironborn will never forgive it.”

“Fantastic,” Jon complained, rolling his eyes, “as if Greyjoy wasn’t annoying enough by himself, now we have to protect his sorry ass from his own stupidity!”

Cursing obnoxious krakens, Jon left as well, and Addam followed, highly amused.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> Thanks for all the cheering, but it wasn't this time... now let's hope for 2022 :)  
> Anyway, it was a near tie, but the sneak peak won by one vote. I was uninspired yesterday, obviously, but I'll post it sometime next week. However, since I liked the idea of Robert's reaction, I might write it as well, to be posted at a later date (though before Ned returns to King's Landing).
> 
> As always, your feedback is more than appreciated :D


	47. 46 Pack Leader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Benjen arrive in Castle Black and try to get a better picture of what's happening, while Master Aemon has a few words to say to the man who raised his surviving family.

**Chapter 46**

**Pack Leader**

 

After Sam’s arrival, Dany had understood that the faint, far away horn came from the top of the Wall, from the brothers who kept watch to the north up there. When it sounded only down below, it meant arrival from the south, which held no interest to her. There was no southern news arriving for her by horse — if anything had happened back home, Uncle Benjen would send a raven, he wouldn’t bother with a messenger.

As such, she kept on reading the book, a fascinating tale of Valyrian lore that had survived the Citadel’s and later the Baratheon purge. She didn’t even hear the door, reason why she nearly jumped out of her chair when the voice broke the silence.

“I have half a mind to put you over my knee and scold you for being a naughty girl,” Ned said, only half joking.

“Lord Stark! What… how…?”

“Both my sons crossed the Wall, so I thought to come North. Imagine my surprise when I got to the Blessed Island and Benjen told me you had left as well.”

Dany blushed. “I just… I couldn’t take not knowing. I had to come.” She felt tears filling her eyes and hated herself for the show of weakness. “I just had the most awful feeling, I just…”

Ned felt a bit at a loss of what to do. She was making him remember the times when she was little, when his bannermen had cursed her because of her father and he had had to explain to a six-year-old some truths she had no maturity to understand or even deal with.

“Hey, don’t be like that…” he asked, his heart tugging.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it’s just… Leeds told me what they found beyond. He didn’t want to, and I can tell he left a lot out, but once I asked he had to tell me. I just want him to come home.”

“Daenerys,” Ned said soothingly, taking her hands in his. “I cannot say I understand these dangers yet, but there is something I know for certain: Jon will fight tooth and nail to come back to you.”

“What if that isn’t enough?” Dany asked, her voice trembling, and she was ashamed of her vulnerability.

Ned smiled. “He is a Stark of Winterfell. We are hard to kill,” he said and she chuckled, clearing her tears. _Besides_ , Ned thought, _Targaryens survived the Doom and a bloody rebellion intent on exterminating you. Surviving is in his blood._

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned was pacing the room, exuding anxiety, while Benjen was stoically sitting in a chair.

“White Walkers?” the Hand of the King asked.

“Yes, Lord Stark,” Sam said.

“They’re real?”

“Yes, Lord Stark.”

“And Jon has fought them?”

“Well, as far as I know Jon fought only one of—” Sam shrunk under Ned’s glare, who was clearly displeased with the little joke. He cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, Lord Stark.”

“And what, in the name of the Old Gods and the New, made those two knuckleheads I have for sons cross the Wall?”

Sam fidgeted in his chair. “After the attack on the Lord Commander, Jon realised that the Others were real, that it wasn’t simply a nursery story. So he deduced that the wildlings were the first line of defence but they were not armed or equipped to deal with the threat. They were going to keep trying to cross south and they have more men, they have giants and mammoths and the Watch wasn’t going to be able to hold them back if they really wanted to pass. So Jon thought that the only way to ensure the Watch’s safety and to make sure that the wildlings were fighting on our side instead as wights for the White Walkers, was to negotiate their crossing.”

“Where was Addam in all of this?” Benjen asked over Ned’s furious snort. “I doubt he was happy about this madness.”

“Oh, no!” Sam answered. “No, no, no, Addam was furious. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I ever saw him this furious, not even when the assassins attacked. He tried to argue, but Jon and Robb were not listening. Then he tried to hold them back — no one could really stop Jon, so Addam tried saying that Robb was here only as _acting_ Lord Stark and he would need your permission, my lord, but not even that worked. Addam stormed right out of the room, he did, cursing impulsiveness and recklessness.”

“Impulsive and reckless, that’s right!” Ned muttered furiously. “He is just like his mother, too inconsequential—”

“Big brother!” Benjen called, taking Ned out of his slip. Luckily Sam didn’t understand the barely audible words.

“Were the wildlings really going to attack?” Ned asked.

Sam shrugged. “There really is no telling, but I believe that, from what we saw out there, Jon and Robb’s plan, mad and dangerous as it is, is the only way to protect both the Watch and make sure the… how did he say it… oh, right, that was odd, because we had never thought that someone had even thought about it before, but then— oh!” Sam flushed, realising what he was saying, and flushed bright red. “Doesn’t matter, it’s just… yes, Lord Stark, the wildlings were really going to attack.”

“What were you saying?” Ned asked, frowning.

“Nothing! I was just… nothing.”

“Sam, you’re an awful liar,” Benjen said.

“It really makes no difference,” the younger man muttered.

“I would still like to hear it,” Ned insisted.

Redder than he had ever been in his life, Sam wanted to punch himself for having talked this much. “Addam said that… I’m sorry, it was insensitive of me to—”

Benjen rolled his eyes, understanding the situation. “What did Rhaegar Targaryen have to do with the wildlings and the Watch?” he asked, making Ned turn to him in shock: “What?!”

Sam looked down, still thoroughly embarrassed. “Addam said that Prince Rhaegar was aware that the White Walkers were real and that they were going to come south in the near future. Well, it was almost twenty years ago, but really… anyway, he said that Prince Rhaegar had some sort of plan regarding the wildlings. We don’t know what, Addam didn’t say, if he even knows, but that’s what… Jon’s plan is our best bet. With the wildlings south of the Wall, they are the army the Watch needs to beat back the White Walkers before they breach the Wall and have the chance to bring back the Long Night.”

Ned exhaled heavily. _Twenty years ago, and Rhaegar was already seeing a threat no one else even considered possible. Looking for allies and plotting a defence strategy before we knew there was a force to attack. He couldn’t put his plans into action but, through life’s odd coincidences, his son comes to give life to his work._ Then he stopped his pacing, a darker thought taking root. _How did Rhaegar know about this? Why had he never… well, he couldn’t act on it because his father was the King. People whispered about Harrenhall being a cover for a plot. Was…_ he stopped himself short. No, it was impossible. Wasn’t it? It seemed it was time to ask his wife a question he never even thought about before.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It took great effort from Daenerys and Maester Aemon, supported by Sam, Leeds, and Jory, to convince Ned and Benjen to wait at least a few more days in Castle Black. The danger of the trip notwithstanding, since Jon and Robb had no idea their father had even left King's Landing, let alone was trekking through snow to find them, there was a chance they would miss each other on the way. It proved to be the right choice on the next morning, when Ghost suddenly appeared in the castle.

Dany woke up with a start, jumping back on the narrow bed. “Ghost! You scared me! How did you—” she cut herself off. It was Ghost, undeniably, and he was looking at her with a curious face. But his eyes weren’t their usual red — they were grey. Her mouth fell slightly open and she frowned. “Jon? Are you… are you warging?”

The direwolf looked around the room, checking their surroundings. Dany reached for his snout, turning it to face her.

“Hey, are you still far? Are you safe? Sam is here — Leeds brought him, Gilly, and her baby safely.” He stepped forward, joining their foreheads until all Dany could see were grey eyes. “I miss you. And I'm worried sick. Don’t think you’ll escape a very heated argument about stupidity.” The wolf puffed and Dany slapped his shoulder. “Don’t act like that! Are you far?”

The wolf shook his head, then nosed her hand, licking her third finger. She frowned for a moment, but then understood. “Three days? You’re three days away?”

Sitting back on his haunches, Jon/Ghost nodded. Dany begun to smile but then there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” she called out.

“It’s me,” Ned’s voice came muffled by the wood. “I would like a word.”

Dany laughed at Jon/Ghost’s look of shock and panic. She stood up and reached for her robe. “Come in.”

Ned did, and blushed. “Oh, I'm sorry, I thought… Ghost? How did you—?”

“Jon is warging,” Dany said. “He’ll hear your scolding loud and clear.”

Ned seemed shocked for a moment, but then was convinced by the grey eyes. “You and your brother had better get here very soon if you don’t want me to go out there and drag you by your ears.”

“He said that they are three days away,” Dany revealed with a smile.

“Good,” Ned said. “You have three days and a half before I saddle my horse. And I hope neither of you were planning on sitting, because my belt is itching.”

The wolf looked down as Daenerys laughed. When Ghost looked up, his eyes were red again, and he wagged his tail, coming to greet Dany as himself.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jon cursed, coming back to himself in the camp. A strong headache was developing on the back of his head, but he was used to that when he made too big an effort to warg into Ghost.

“What did you see?” Robb asked, worried about Jon’s cursing. “Where did Ghost disappear to?”

“I cannot believe this,” he said, shocked, leaning back, a bit dumbfounded. “We’re in for a bit of trouble and I am certainly fucked.”

“What in the blazes happened?” Robb insisted.

“Dany is in Castle Black,” Jon said. Addam burst out laughing and Robb was sympathetic.

“If your wife is waiting for you a few days away, I'm gonna go ahead and say that you are not the one who will be—” Theon started, but was cut off with groans and an apple core Addam threw at his head.

“Why must you be such a pig, Greyjoy?” Jon asked.

“Don’t disrespect your lady mother by making it look like she never taught you manners,” Addam said seriously. “And the next time you disrespect any woman in front of me, I will challenge you.”

Theon closed his mouth, his ever present smile vanishing. He looked to Addam’s borrowed sword as if recognising a threat — though he was completely unaware of his true identity, they had fought wights enough times for the ironborn to be quite certain he’d wish for few things less than he wished to cross his sword with the knight.

“I think we should let him say that to Lady Starling’s face,” Robb said. “Pretty sure that if she were in a good mood, she would get a very good slap in. The gods know what she’d do in a bad mood.”

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” Addam said, “I’ve been teaching her to handle a blade, I'm pretty sure the Greyjoy line would end right here.”

Theon paled and looked down, his demeanour properly abashed. The people around the campfire laughed and Jon smiled proudly — his lady wife certainly had enough fire.

“What else happened?” Robb asked, giving his bowl to Patrik, who passed collecting the empty remains of their simple breakfast. “You said _we_ were in for a bit of a trouble.”

“Aye,” Jon said with a sigh. “Father is there as well.” Robb widened his eyes and Addam burst out laughing again. “There was a threat involving dragging us by our ears and his itching belt,” Jon muttered quietly.

“Wonderful!” Addam said. “His reaction would have been quite muted in a letter or raven. Now it should be something to appreciate.”

“Aye,” Robb muttered back to his brother, “we are fucked.”

“I had no idea a person could hold a warging for this long across a barrier like the Wall!” Orell said, visibly impressed.

“You mean the Hand of the southern King is in Castle Black?” Val asked.

“Aye,” Jon asked, rubbing the back of his head. He looked up when Orell gave him a bundle: snow wrapped in a cloth.

“You made too big an effort if you warged across the Wall. I bet your head is banging,” the Free Folk warg said.

“I’ve had worse,” Jon said with a nod to Tormund, but thanking the man all the same. The headache persisted but was greatly muted.

“Sorry, lordling,” the redhead said with laughter in his voice. “Didn’t know we were fighting on the same side.”

Jon chuckled good-naturedly. “I’d’ve thought it was obvious. We’re all still breathing, aren’t we?”

“Orell, send a message to Mance,” Val cut through the boisterous laughter born in the growing camaraderie. “I’m sure he’ll want to talk with Eddard Stark himself.”

The man rolled his eyes but obeyed anyway, his eagle flying north as the rest of them finished up raising the camp. Jon couldn’t help but feel great — Dany was sure to be furious and they would most certainly have a huge fight, but she was at Castle Black. He would see her at least one moon earlier than he had expected. Besides, as furious as his father was, seeing him was always a pleasure.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned went into the library, unsure of what to expect. Daenerys had told him that her great-great-uncle, Maester Aemon, wished to speak to him and, though they had talked on the day before, the Lord of Winterfell was a bit anxious. Was the man angry because of his role in the Rebellion? Furious about what he had allowed in regards to his great-great-niece’s marriage?

“Maester?” he called.

The man came from an aisle not very far, not seeming the least slowed down by his blindness while navigating the cluttered small library.

“This is a new voice. You must forgive a blind man, Lord Stark, as I presume my niece passed along my wish to speak.”

“Aye, Maester, she did.”

“Good, good. Let us sit, my lord, and I have something to say,” Aemon said, gesturing towards the chairs by the fire. Ned felt his anxiety grow a bit. “When I received those dark news from the south, I could not help but despair. Then there was a silver lining in all the tragedy: Daenerys. I had heard she had been stripped of her title and betrothed to a northern bastard, but she was a Targaryen that had lived, and I rejoiced. I admit I never did have much love for you, my lord, for you had risen against my family, regardless of your more than justified reasons, and you were my niece’s gaoler. But then Addam introduced me to said northern bastard and I could not help but be thankful for the boy you raised. Then I met Daenerys and she sung you praises and I learned that you were a good man, the best. So I wished to thank you, Lord Stark, for raising two remarkable young people and giving an old man hope for the future.”

Ned was disconcerted. He should have guessed Addam wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut! He took a moment to collect his thoughts, and the maester waited patiently, aware he had thrown the Northerner off.

“Jon is my son, Maester Aemon,” Ned finally said.

“He is,” the maester agreed with an easy smile. “And what an amazing son to be proud of has life given you, my lord.”

Ned blushed, glad the other man couldn’t see it. “What I did for him, I did it, and would do, for all my children. As his betrothed, I raised Daenerys like a daughter, the same as I raised the girls my former wife gave me.”

Aemon smiled, reaching over the table to pat Ned’s hand. “You are a good man, Eddard Stark. You value family above all else, and that is increasingly rare in our world. But if you will permit me, my niece told me that you have taught her that ‘a hard truth is better than a pretty lie’. You have been living in King’s Landing, as the Hand of the King, for a couple of years now, so I hope you will give some thought to advice bestowed by a man raised in that snake’s nest: lies and secrets have the tendency to swallow you whole, my lord, and threaten all those you treasure most. It might be time to tell a hard truth.”

“You know it is not that easy, Maester,” Ned said in a whisper.

“I have talked with Jon and, from what little I got to know him, I doubt he would condemn you for it,” Aemon replied just as quietly.

“Perhaps. But what will he do once he knows the truth? No chair is more valuable than his life.”

“Oh, no, indeed not. But he seemed to be a very intelligent young man and just as devoted to his family as his adoptive father,” the Maester agreed and Ned couldn’t help the sting in his heart. “He deserves the truth, and you deserve the peace it will bring to you. By not telling him, you only protect your own guilty conscience. If he finds out by other means, can you imagine how betrayed he will feel? How belittled, as if the man he thought of as his father, his hero, thought him unworthy and too dumb to know his own identity?”

Ned stiffened, guilt sinking his stomach once again. “I…” he babbled. “I hadn’t…”

“Best to think on it now, my lord. And I speak on behalf of House Targaryen when I say: thank you. You rose in rebellion when your King betrayed you, and that shall not, _cannot_ be held against you. But even if you had other reasons, even if you won't admit to it, you have protected House Targaryen and, if we stand today, we owe it to you, Lord Eddard.”

Ned blushed profusely. He had never thought about it like that.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned kicked a piece of gravel away, watching as it kicked once, twice, three times before vanishing over the side of the Wall. The wind was howling in their ears as they walked away from the elevator and where the brothers keeping watching were. Jory had stopped a few steps away, to keep guard and make sure no one would follow them to eavesdrop, though the roaring wind was great enough cover for their words. Finally, Benjen lost his patience.

“While I do admire the breathtaking view, big brother, I know you brought me here because you want to talk without being overheard. What is it?”

Ned exhaled, looking to the frozen lands to the north. “Addam has a big mouth.”

“I’m not really surprised,” Benjen said with a smile. “Once Daenerys told us the maester was her great-great-uncle, I imagined Addam would have whispered in his ear.”

“He promised he would never tell a soul,” Ned complained. “He swore on Ella’s life.”

Benjen raised an eyebrow. “I doubt Addam would lie. It is not his character. Nor is it to break his word. What was his promise?”

“That he would never tell anyone about her pregnancy nor about Jon’s mother.”

“Well, there is an answer to that,” Benjen chuckled. “From what Sam said, about Rhaegar having a plan for the wildlings, it’s not wild to think that he kept contact with Maester Aemon, who was his great-great-uncle after all. Addam didn’t have to _tell_ him anything. Perhaps merely fill in the blanks. If Rhaegar had announced the—”

“Shh! That is dangerous enough!” Ned said and Benjen rolled his eyes. “You have a point, and it is not something I hadn’t considered.”

“You have to stop wanting to kill this, Ned. You can’t suffocate this secret forever. Jon is a grown man, married, with two children, lord of his own castle, and he just underwent a major diplomatic mission. A _reckless_ mission, but well, he’s got too much of his mother in him. Most pronouncedly her wilfulness.”

_Beautiful and wilful, and dead before her time_ , Ned shivered, remembering how he had described his sister to Arya once. He sighed.

“What if he states his claim?”

Benjen threw him a dirty look. “He might be reckless, but he isn't _that_ reckless. Making a claim right now will mean war and he is not prepared for that. The navy can’t do much and the army is nowhere near enough. Highly doubtful he’ll be able to count on the Riverlands, since Catelyn’s downfall is due to her actions towards him, when he was never a bastard, and that probably extends to the Vale. Crownlands, Stormlands, and Westerlands will stand against him, obviously, as they are interested in the Baratheon rule. Dorne is a wild card: they’ll probably take offence on Elia’s behalf, or simply decide to stay out of it to see us burn. He will certainly have the Reach, but they alone won’t be enough. And then there is you. You have a blood duty to him, but there is also your word to Robert, what puts you in a precarious position. Another bloody war, another countless thousands dead. I doubt Jon is that power-hungry.”

“He is not…” Ned agreed. Benjen was right, Ned was in a most precarious position, walking a tightrope like one of those mad acrobats Robert used to invite Court yearly. On one hand, there was his word, his oath to his friend, who only kept on disappointing him. Every day that passed showed him that the Robert he had befriended in their childhoods at the Eyrie either had existed only in Ned’s head or was long dead. On the other hand, there was his blood duty to Jon, his nephew by blood, his son in his heart, who was rightfully the heir to the Iron Throne — a right Ned himself had had a hand in taking from him. Robert had won his crown on the battlefield, claiming his throne when he walked unopposed into the Red Keep (regardless of how the Lannisters had assured this lack of opposition). To take it from him, Jon would need to do so in the battlefield as well. But where was Ned going to stand?

“Maester Aemon said… Jon should hear it from me.”

“He should indeed,” Benjen said, afraid to hope that his brother was letting go of his stubbornness.

“I will tell him,” Ned decided, wondering if the campfire smoke he saw in the distance was his mind wishful thinking or indeed proof that his sons were really only a day and a half away now.

Then both brothers jumped, startled with a crow cawing nearby.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

On the third day since Ghost’s arrival, Ned was pacing his room with a level of anxiety he hadn’t really experienced since the Rebellion. The direwolf had become Daenerys’ constant shadow, though the lady said she hadn’t noticed any new wargings. It was midmorning when Benjen finally broke from his cold fury and became too irritable.

“They must have raised camp at daybreak,” he told his older brother. “Probably get here by dusk.”

“I hate waiting,” Ned said.

Benjen snorted. “Now you know how I felt during the war.”

Ned chose to ignore it. It was nearly noon when they heard the faint horn announcing riders from the north, and they both tore from the room. It seemed Daenerys had been pacing in the courtyard, because she was already next to Jon as he dismounted Winterstorm, drawing him into a tight hug. She said something, because Jon released her, laughed heartily, and kissed her forehead. Dany then, also smiling, stepped back to greet Robb. Jon went ahead to greet Ghost, scolding him for wandering away without warning, getting himself a dirty look from his wife.

“Father!” his eldest son exclaimed when he and Benjen descended the stairs to the courtyard. “We weren’t expecting you to come here.”

“Both my sons, who were supposed to come to _the Wall_ , decided to cross it on a whim and then my daughter decided to follow her idiotic husband,” he said, scuffing first Robb then Jon behind the ears. “And I see you have brought company,” he added looking at the two other direwolves.

One of them was grey with a white streak on his left side and bright blue eyes. He stepped forward unafraid, a big, adult wolf that was as tall as a small horse, and sat down in front of Benjen, staring easily into his eyes. Benjen shivered, but then felt what Jon had once described: a little nudge on the back of his mind, a presence that wanted to greet him. Clumsily, he pushed back against the nudge. There was a faint whisper of recognition, but then the connection snapped broken.

The second direwolf waited patiently for his turn. He had shining silver fur and deep, hazel eyes that stared into Ned’s grey ones with intelligence. Honoured, he raised his hand to touch the wolf’s snout in greeting. The direwolf accepted it, closed his eyes to enjoy the touch, but then took a step back, sat back on his haunches, and howled loudly. Everyone in Castle Black stopped and turned to look, a shiver passing through them. The other three wolves in the courtyard joined the cry in a deafening show. Across the North, four other direwolves joined in.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	48. 47 Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally in Castle Black, Jon and Robb must face the full reaction of their loved ones.

**Chapter 47**

**Reunion**

 

The courtyard was still reverberating the howling, everyone frozen in their places. Until someone dropped an armful of copper pots, startling people into movement.

“That was a chilling thing to see,” Theon said.

“I quite agree,” Ned said, feeling oddly alive. “In any case,” he added, looking at the rest of the group, “it seems I am needed here in a diplomatic capacity.”

“This is Val,” Robb introduced with a hand on Grey Wind’s back. “She is good-sister and ambassador to the King Beyond the Wall, Mance Rayder. Val, this is our lord father, Lord Eddard of House Stark, the Warden of the North and Hand of the King.”

“Lord Stark,” she greeted, a bit more coldly than a lady in Court, but they were used to northern practicality. “I have sent a message to my good-brother and he should be arriving soon. If you wouldn’t mind waiting to treat directly with him.”

“Not at all,” Ned said. “Much faster and more efficient this way. I would be pleased to receive any of his terms beforehand, though, if you would present them, in the name of not wasting time.”

“I should be glad of it,” Val agreed and it was clear why Mance relied on her as an ambassador, regardless of family bonds: she had a no-nonsense approach, but she could expose her view clearly.

“Since that is sorted,” Dany cut in, “and there is no need to speak at this very moment, let’s all go up and get settled, I'm sure you would all like to wash and rest and have some good food after your journey. Come, the kitchens are ready for you.” The stewards and guards begun to lead the guests and other brothers to the dining hall. “Orys, would you ask them to send food up, please?”

“Of course, my lady. My lord, welcome back.” The guard walked away.

“Come,” Ned called, “we must talk. And you two need a proper scolding.”

Both Jon and Robb blushed sheepishly.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“What were you thinking?!” Ned exclaimed as soon as the door closed behind them.

Much to his dislike, Ser Alliser had received Ned and Benjen with all courtesies, setting them in chambers in the King’s Tower and even allowing Ned a solar. But other than what was reasonably expected of him as Acting Lord Commander, the man had been cold and rude, and made no effort to hide his sneer. Ned took the seat behind the desk and the silver direwolf immediately sat next to him. Ghost and Grey Wind had followed Wex to the kitchens, but the grey direwolf was also following Benjen.

“Father…”

“Do not start with a sob story about wildlings. You _have_ to know that either of you had died beyond the Wall, it would cease any and all attempts to peace. Rather, it would have jump-started an even worse conflict.”

“If we hadn’t gone, the Free Folk and the Watch would have inevitably found themselves at war,” Jon said, since Robb didn’t seem keen in interrupting. “Look at this place! The Free Folk would win easily. And they have giants and mammoths! They are enemies we don’t need to have, and much less surrender them to become part of the Other’s army.”

“I'm not disagreeing with that! I'm disagreeing with your methods!” Ned said, not at all shocked with the defiance. _Truly his mother’s son_.

“It was the only way to bring Mance Rayder to a table,” Robb said with a bit less conviction.

“It was reckless!” Ned said. “I'm not diminishing the Watch, but they will never be the same as our own men. You could never have crossed, not even to go a few miles away, without a full guard. You had what, a handful of men?” Both young men looked down and blushed. “You are not children training under Ser Rodrik anymore, boys. You are grown men, with a lot of responsibilities. You are sons of Winterfell. Robb, you're the heir to the North, and Jon, you are lord of a major House, one of our most important bannermen right now. If anything had happened to you… Robb, Winterfell would be vulnerable, Bran is only a child — and that is not even mentioning the delicate state of affairs the broken betrothal to House Tyrell would mean, especially now when the maesters are talking about the end of summer. Jon, not thinking about what it would mean to your wife and children, can you imagine how vulnerable they would be with Daenerys not protected by you, but at Robert’s mercy?”

His words had the desired impact. Both Jon and Robb looked down, feeling the weight of their actions.

“That said,” Ned continued, “I’m sure you are ravenous after weeks and weeks of eating camp food. First Daenerys, then your uncle Benjen were thoughtful enough to bring sufficient food from the Blessed Island’s stores to make sure we wouldn’t be imposing on the Night’s Watch hard earned stores. You, however, will eat what the Watch’s cooks usually serve the brothers, and you will have no dessert for a week. Now each to your own room to think about your actions.”

“Father!” Robb complained while Jon had the sense to keep quiet. “You are treating us like—”

“You have behaved like reckless children,” Ned said, “therefore I am treating you as such.”

Though aware that his greatest ‘battle’ had yet to be fought, Jon was sufficiently admonished. He pulled Robb by his sleeve and dragged his brother from the room.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Are you going to yell at me?” Jon asked when Dany led them to the room she had been occupying.

“I think your father has already properly chastised you,” she said, poking the fireplace.

The room was small and very far from their chambers at home, but between Davos, Orys, and Wex, they had managed to bring another bed in and pushed them both together to form a mismatched double bed. Jon groaned, pulling his armour off and throwing the pieces on the table for Patrik to sort out later.

“Damn, I thought that would be glued to me forever.”

Dany pursed her lips, displeased with the small cut over his eyebrow and the faint bruises on his side. She helped with the buckles though, and for the first time since leaving Castle Black weeks and weeks before, Jon found himself down to his small clothes.

“I was worried-sick!” Dany exclaimed, slapping his shoulder. “Did you really think sending a raven with ‘the Others are real, I’ve had confirmation when I saved the Lord Commander’s life, so Robb and I are crossing to treat with the wildlings’ was reasonable?”

Jon took a deep breath. “I can see it from your perspective now and admit we were a bit reckless and perhaps even premature. But we did what we thought right and it…”

“It paid off,” Dany cut in. “It’s the same thing you said when you told me the story of your knighting and how it paid off because you ‘put the Mountain on his back’. It was luck, Jon, pure luck in both cases. But luck runs out eventually.”

He blushed and looked down, embarrassed again. Somehow, having prepared for her anger and yelling, her reasonable scolding was throwing him off.

“My lady, the bath is ready,” came the disembodied voice from behind the side door.

“Thank you, Irri,” Dany said. “Come on, let’s get you in a tub. I’m sure you’re itching for a bath. You certainly need it.”

“What I’m itching for is our bathing pool in our chambers,” Jon said. “But I’m afraid a copper tub in Castle Black will have to do.”

“I’m sure Lyanna misses your weekly pool parties,” Dany needled as they crossed to the adjacent bathing room. “And just when we were going to start bringing Little Addam.”

“I miss them. So much…” Jon said longingly.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, they miss you too. Be prepared for a very grumpy toddler when we return: Lya was complaining daily about your absence and she threw a terrifying tantrum when I said I was leaving as well.”

Jon chuckled, sinking into the blissful hot water. “I’ll make it up to her.”

“Well, I might have given her something to occupy her free time with,” Dany said, getting behind him, even though Jon had let his head back and closed his eyes.

“Really? What?”

“The team you sent to inspect the volcano returned,” she revealed. “They brought trinkets. I gave Lyanna her pick. She chose the blue and silver egg.”

“Huuum,” Jon groaned, then he stiffened. “Egg? What egg?” He sat up straighter, but Dany was beyond his field of vision.

“A dragon egg, love. What other kind of egg would they find in a recently erupted volcano?”

“Wait, so we have more? And you gave one to Lya—” he cut himself short, letting his chin drop open when Dany stepped back from behind the screen. “Gods, Dany!” She was wearing her Essosi small clothes, the scandalous lacy number that left little to his imagination and teased a lot, making his blood boil like nothing else ever did.

“You were saying, love?” Dany teased, coming to stand by the foot of the tub.

Jon raised himself from his seat, crossing the small copper piece to kneel in front of her, drawing her down for a slow, seductive kiss. Dany provoked him, biting his lower lip, playing with his tongue before taking his mouth in assault. Suffering from neglect, Jon’s body was tingling for attention, highly sensitive, especially when she ran a small, talented hand down the well-defined muscles of his torso, down to the hardening appendage between his legs.

“I really did miss you, love,” Jon groaned, kissing down her neck.

Dany smiled, teasing him with a bite of her nails, then bit down on his earlobe. “I missed you too. So very much!” She moaned, pumping his cock a few more times. Then she abruptly stepped back, making Jon scramble for purchase on the edge of the tub. “But as I said, luck runs out eventually. They’re making lamb stew and glazed pumpkins for supper. Not to mention cherry pie. You know how much I love cherry pie. Since you’re grounded, I suppose I will have to go down to the dining hall to have a good meal, instead of the grub they’ll send up. And it is such a long way…”

Not bothering to hide her mirth, Dany all but ran back to the bedroom, where Irri was waiting to help her redress. Jon stared after her for a long moment, dumbfounded, before he groaned in frustration and let himself sink back into the cooling water. Aye, he would have very much preferred a shouting match.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ella was smiling, watching the three baby boys playing on the fluffy rug in the middle of the room. Cregan was delighted to have company his age and Little Addam and Rickard were only too happy to integrate him in their games. They were currently practicing their sitting up, all cheering each other when they managed to not topple over. Rickard, being the youngest, didn’t manage it for a long time and, when he eventually fell on his side, his cousins came over to play another game. That was when Ayla came back into the room, a soft smile in her face, even if she showed some anticipation.

“Did something happen?” Ella asked.

“There was a raven from Castle Black,” she answered. “It’s got a Hand seal, so I brought it to you.”

Ella took it and ripped the seal open in a rush, anxious.

 

_My beloved wife,_

_I write to tell you that we have both arrived safely in Castle Black. The journey was without incident, and the seas were kind. Lady Starling is well, if anxious to have her husband return safely. Lord Tarly returned early, since they decided to split up, and Robb and Jon are in a diplomatic meeting with the King Beyond the Wall. Benjen and I have been cautioned to wait the few days they have said it would take them this meeting, lest we miss each other. I shall write as soon as we have other news._

_I miss you and the children terribly much and I cannot wait until we are reunited._

_Love,_

_Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King_

 

“Good news?” Ayla asked, curious.

“Yes, a bit,” Ella replied. “They arrived in Castle Black and met with Daenerys. Lord Tarly returned early and said Jon and Robb are on their way back. Oh, I wish they were all safe!”

“I’m sure they will be.” Ayla smiled. “Though, given what they’ll find on their return, Jon and Robb might regret not staying there for a while longer. I know I am itching to give Jon a good dressing down, so he will remember that his head is for using, not only to decorate his neck, pretty as his face might be.”

Ella laughed, agreeing with the sentiment. “Do you think keeping Robb from the stables and the training grounds for a moon would work? It would certainly work on Arya…”

“Oh, it would definitely have an effect,” Ayla said, amused. Then the boys drew their attention away and both mothers rushed to their side.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ned turned to Addam when the door closed behind his sons and good-daughter and found the man highly amused.

“I have to admit,” the knight said, “that was genius. I hope it works.”

Ned exhaled. “You have a big mouth,” he accused.

“If you mean Maester Aemon, he had received a letter. I merely gave names to faces.”

Benjen chuckled as Ned rolled his eyes. He was clearly intending to say something else when the horn sounded again. Given that the faint horn hadn’t been heard before, it was an arrival from the south.

“If that is either of our wives,” Ned bit out to Benjen, standing up, “I _will_ lose my temper!”

When they got to the courtyard, thankfully it was neither Ella nor Ayla, though perhaps even more surprising. The young woman dismounted her horse with the ease only years of practice could afford, bundling herself in a very thick cloak. Ned cursed under his breath, rushing down the steps.

“Lady Margaery! We were not expecting your arrival!”

She turned in a blur of gold and green and had a determined expression on her face. “Lady Starling informed me of my betrothed’s trip outside our borders. That is twice now that Lord Robb fails to inform me of threatening situations involving him. I thought I should come and give my response in person.”

“What my lady sister means, Lord Stark,” a young man approached, throwing Margaery a glare, “is that in his letter informing her of his journey to Castle Black, Lord Robb mentioned that the Night's Watch was in difficulties given that most lords have neglected their duties. My lord father recognises he — and our House — have been lax on the issue, so he realised he must contribute to this year’s duties with haste and see how he can correct past mistakes. As such, he sent me as emissary in the delivery of supplies, which will arrive from the Gift in time. My lady sister, in her concern with her betrothed, decided to accompany me.”

_At least Robb did something responsible_ , Ned thought. “Why, I thank you, Lord Garlan,” he deduced. He had met Loras and Willas was lame so that was the only brother left. “Though I am certain there was no need for the journey, come, I shall send for Lord Commander Mormont and warn them of your arrival, but let us gather by the fire. And I will send for Lord Robb as well, so you can properly yell at him, Lady Margaery,” he added with a smile.

She smiled. “Thank you, Lord Stark. I assume he arrived safely, then?”

“Aye, my lady, just a short while ago. You timed your arrival perfectly.”

“Good. I should be short-tempered to wait and much dismayed to have missed him.”

Ned smiled, leading the way to the King’s Tower. He knocked on Robb’s solar and opened it after a short ‘what?’. A crumbled piece of parchment flew in his direction and he nearly didn’t catch before it hit his shoulder.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ned asked.

Robb groaned in frustration. “I am attempting to compose a letter to my betrothed if you must know, Father. I have been negligent in telling her of my whereabouts.”

“Oh, I quite agree,” Margaery said, pushing her way into of the room. “Though there is no need for a letter now.”

Robb stood up in a jump, tipping over the inkpot and spilling ink all over the desk. He looked like he had just had the biggest shock of his life, his whole face flushing bright red. “What… the… but… this… this is… Margaery?”

“Since you seem to have difficulty communicating, my lord,” she said, walking further in and closer to the fire, “I thought I should come and give you a lesson in the matter.”

Ned bit back a big guffaw at his son’s open shock and dazed disbelief. “I shall send for the Lord Commander and arrange for accommodations. Robb, you talk outside or with the door open, do you hear me?”

Robb dumbly nodded, not recovered. Garlan only smirked: knowing his sister, Robb Stark was going to be disoriented for a while. Though he didn’t share this with the Lord of Winterfell. Benjen pulled Addam aside as Ned started to lead the way down the corridor.

“Who do you think is in bigger trouble, Robb or Jon?”

“Well, it’s hard to say,” Addam answered. “I don’t know Lady Margaery, but any woman who up and leaves the comfort of her home to travel across nearly the entire continent to slap some sense into her betrothed is, from where I see it, quite capable of making herself heard. Then again, Jon _knows_ Dany, he’s used to her anger. Don’t know how much that will help if she’s angry enough to be inventive.”

They watched as the lady in question came in their direction, giggling with her handmaiden. “My lords,” Dany said, her voice filled with mischief. “How goes it?”

“Lady Margaery came to speak some sense to Robb,” Benjen said.

Dany raised an eyebrow and then risked a glance in the direction of the voice coming from Robb’s open door. “Oh, the sneaky!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t she tell me! I would have informed her of their movements!”

“Oh, really?!” came Margaery’s raised voice through the door, followed by Robb’s low grumbling.

Dany and Irri laughed, then continued their path down the corridor, even happier.

“Both,” Addam said.

“Both,” Benjen concurred. “Both is good.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“How did you get here?” Robb asked, his jumbled mind struggling to find something reasonable to start with.

“A varied combination of boats, ships, and a horse from the Shadow Tower. Is that really your question?” Margaery asked with a raised brow.

“I'm sorry, I'm just… _why_ did you come? When I told you I was coming to Castle Black, I would never have expected…”

“But that is just it, Robb!” she exclaimed. “You told me you were coming to _Castle Black_ to see to a problem between the Watch and the wildlings. _I_ never expected it would cross your mind to go beyond the Wall!”

“But how did you even find out this fast? I get that by boat is not as long a trip from the Reach, but you got here awfully fast.”

She glared at him. “Oh, so now it is my fault for finding out?”

“Not your fault, no. I just mean, this is a dangerous place and—”

“Oh, really? You, men, have too delicate sensibilities. We women are capable of much more than you think.”

Robb blushed. Looking at Ella, Dany, Margaery, and her grandmother, he had to admit that the idea of a silly, delicate lady he had grown up with was certainly misplaced. The wild women of Bear Island, whom the North thought of as so very different from the rest, were still certainly beyond the average, but perhaps not such a unique brand after all.

“Even so,” he said, “it is still a dangerous place.”

“Then perhaps you should improve your communication skills, so I would not find the need to come and speak to you in person,” Margaery threw back.

“Did Daenerys tell you?”

“The question is why didn’t you, Robb? The problem is not that I know or who told me, the problem is that it was not you! Why do you continuously forget to tell me important things about you? Do you think me so feeble I wouldn’t care? Or perhaps I matter so little?”

“Never! I just… I recognise my mistake. I should have thought better about my journey beyond the Wall and I should have informed you.”

“And what possessed you to go beyond? Do you care so little for the heart I gave you that you take it into danger to die with it in your hands and leave me with no hope of getting it back?” Margaery asked in a whisper. Robb felt something indescribable take over his own heart, something he couldn’t qualify or even explain. But it tugged with the sadness shining in her green eyes.

“I am…” he mumbled, disconcerted. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I knew the danger, but I hadn’t considered all the… I'm sorry.”

“If we are to get married, we must trust one another. A marriage without trust would be a failure I am certain I wish to take no part in,” she said and Robb was immediately reminded of his own parents’ marriage — once his father was no longer able to trust his mother, that was when it all started to go wrong. “And if you don’t trust me enough to tell me what is happening with you, what threatens your safety, then why do you wish to marry me? If every time you throw yourself into danger you ignore my existence, perhaps it would be for the best that you take no more part in it,” she finished with a serious expression, walking over and putting something in his hands.

Margaery then turned her back and left the room and Robb felt sadness as he saw her go. Then he opened his hand and he actually felt his heart break. She had returned the direwolf necklace he had given her on the Blessed Island. Perhaps he had ignored her a bit too much.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Reasonably recovered from his frustrated bath, Jon ate the grub that was waiting for him in the bedroom and then decided to go check on Sam. Knowing his friend, his absence on the courtyard earlier could only be because he was only too busy lost in books in the library. So he made his way there, hoping Maester Aemon would also be there and they had figured out what were the strange symbols found with the dragonglass weapons.

“Well,” Sam started after they had greeted each other, “you said that when you were fighting that White Walker he touched the common blade you were using and it froze until it disintegrated into nothingness. Then when you struck it with Longclaw, not only was it not able to freeze the Valyrian steel, it became even more akin to ice and then exploded.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed. “So what?”

“We were attacked by a White Walker. No wights, only a walker. He killed the other guard and destroyed Leeds’ and my sword. But I had the dragonglass dagger and I just… I honestly can't tell much of what happened. One moment it was threatening to take the baby and harm Gilly and the other I had buried the dagger on its back. Then it froze and exploded.”

“But Gilly and the child are fine?” Jon asked.

“Yes, yes, only a fright. I’m sure he’s even forgotten it already.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that the dragonglass… it also works against them, just like Valyrian steel?” Jon deduced.

“Yes!” Sam said. “Think about it, Jon, the Children of the Forest used it, the First Men used it during the Long Night. We forgot why, but now it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“It does, indeed,” Jon smiled. “And I happen to have a cave-full of dragonglass at my disposal.”

“That is still going to cost a lot to mine, Jon, and the Watch will probably not be able to pay much for it,” Sam said.

Jon bit his lip, looking at the few weapons of dragonglass on the table. “It can be our taxes, can’t it? Instead of paying it in gold, we pay it in dragonglass. If we can talk to the Lord Commander, perhaps put a few more Houses in this system, they pay us the gold and we send dragonglass up. Besides, it’s not only the Watch, Sam, the northern armies are going to need it, and maybe even the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Maybe Stannis Baratheon can do the same,” the secretary realised. “There’s dragonglass in Dragonstone as well, isn't that what Grus told us?”

“Aye… what about the symbols?” Jon asked.

“Still working on them,” Sam replied grumpily. “Maester Aemon’s library is fantastic but there’s mostly history, I haven’t found one with the symbols on them.”

“Some of the wildlings speak the Old Tongue,” Jon said. “It might be useful to ask them.”

“I will think about it if I don’t find anything else. Oh, what I could do with half these many books!” Sam grumbled wistfully.

Jon chuckled. “How is the whole wizard-copying coming along?”

“You know, if I do find a way, I shall mock you forever for not believing in me.”

“Sam, if you do find a way you will be so rich you will have other things to occupy your time with!”

They both laughed and Jon left the library. If the Lord Commander was still receiving calls, he would relay Sam’s discovery now, Jon decided. Once Mance Rayder arrived, they would be too busy with other affairs and Jon had no intention of staying in Castle Black on day longer than necessary.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	49. 48 Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya enjoys Daenerys' hard labours at the village while in Castle Black the night is dark and full of terrors.

**Chapter 48**

**Darkness**

 

 

Arya laughed loudly, a full belly laughter, as she watched Nymeria trample Drennan to the ground. The boy was also amused, as he was with most things, and only laughed, quickly getting back to his feet and restarting the chase after the direwolf. There was laughter all around, children running like there was no tomorrow.

“I think this place is incredible!” Arya said, getting down from her horse in one swift jump. Gendry scrambled clumsily from his, still getting used to the saddle. They were in the park Daenerys had built in the village for the children and other than one or two guards patrolling to insure order, there were no adults around.

“Lady Starling did a good job,” he agreed. “Children don’t run around creating a mess in the village anymore, and they’re not at risk of being run down by a cart either.”

“It’s awesome,” Arya said, then turned to him. “How is the horse treating you?”

“Oh, he’s treating me just fine, it’s just we’re taking a while to get to know each other.”

Arya laughed. “I’ll make a rider out of you yet!”

“I won’t mind if you do,” he replied as they walked to the water troth and tied the horses there. “When do you leave, milady?”

“I’m not sure yet. Depends when my lord father and lord brothers decide to come south.”

“I hope you won’t be offended when I say you will be missed, milady.”

“How many times do I have to say to not call me ‘milady’?”

“How many times do I have to say I can’t?” he threw back, making her roll her eyes.

“We could always write,” she added as they climbed the slope to the little hill where the older children gathered.

Gendry blushed. “Why’d want to write to a smith?”

“I would want to write to a _friend_ ,” Arya said, annoyed.

“What would we talk about?” he asked quietly, embarrassed.

“What do we talk about now? Really, what is the matter?”

“I just…” He blushed even deeper. “I can’t write,” he confessed and Arya missed a step and nearly rolled down the steep hill they were climbing. “Gods, are you alright?”

She pulled herself to her full right and turned around. “What do you mean, you can’t write?”

“Well, lowborns aren’t usually taught.”

“But… you… don’t you need to… to, I don’t know, have some sort of control over the things for the forge?”

“I can do numbers,” Gendry shrugged, “never had cause to learn the letters.”

“But what about when an order comes?”

“Well, Lord Tarly is the one who handles that. We got a good system, he will draw the symbol for armour, sword, or dagger and I can read the number. Then I can tally the amount I’ve made. It works just fine.”

“That is absurd.”

“No, it’s not. We’re lucky here with Lord Tarly and Lord Starling, actually. You have no idea how much worse it was down in King’s Landing.”

Arya only huffed, stomping her way up to the peak and sitting heavily under the shade of an old oak. Gendry exhaled and followed her, trying to think of how to appease her. Hot Pie showed up soon enough, bringing spoils from the bakery to the great pleasure of everyone around. Arya finally lost her frown when he offered her a sweet roll and her displeasure was completely forgotten when they needed to rush back to the castle under pouring rain.

He should have guessed she wouldn’t let it go, though, when she showed up at the forge three days later with Bernarr, one of the maester’s apprentices, Hot Pie trailing close behind.

“Drennan, get us a few chairs!” Arya ordered and the boy immediately jumped up to comply.

“What is going on?” Gendry asked shakily.

“You’re learning how to read,” she declared.

“I am?”

“You are,” she insisted. “There’s to be no argument on the matter. Drennan, come here and let’s make this a group lesson.”

Gendry thought to argue that they should at least wait for Lord Starling, but she had her face set in the stubborn way he had already learnt allowed for no rebuke. Besides, it wasn’t like she wasn’t right and that it wouldn’t help him manage the forge, what with the old armourer getting sicker and sicker. So he only sat down and looked at the piece of parchment the maester was unrolling in front of his three new pupils.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Val was torn between amusement and annoyance at the little lordling trying to sweettalk her. Annoyance was quickly winning, though, as the man continually sung himself praises. To hear him talk, one would believe he was the greatest hero that ever lived.

“I seem to remember you tripping over yourself over that handful of wights we met on the way,” Tormund said, making everyone chuckle.

“That was an unfortunate accident,” Theon said, though his smile faltered. “I’m the best archer around!”

“And the most full of himself, that’s for sure,” the redhead man mumbled, turning back to the tasty dinner they were being served. Val smiled into her plate so as not to be rude.

There was a momentary lull in the conversation as all the brothers rose in respect to welcome the silver-haired woman who had greeted them earlier in the courtyard. Lady Starling, Val remembered, the intricate family names and Houses still an alien concept.

“Lady Starling!” Theon exclaimed loudly — it seemed that the return to the safety of Castle Black, the lack of wights and White Walkers, and the plentiful drink and food had made him more flamboyant than usual. “You look more beautiful than ever!”

Daenerys approached the table uneasily. “Lord Theon,” she greeted. “Lady Val, our introduction in the courtyard was too brief. Would you mind if I joined you?”

“Not at all, Lady Starling, please, join us. But I am no lady. The Free Folk don’t bother with such frivolity,”

Dany raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I am certain that in a land so harsh and with so many dangers, it must seem silly.”

Val wanted to kick herself for the blunder. “I am sorry, my lady. I meant no offence.”

“Neither did I,” Dany said, but there was tenseness between them now. “In the North we hear very little about the Free Folk. I would love to hear more, if you would tell me.”

“Have you ever seen snow in these green lands of yours, milady?” Orell asked.

“I was born in the south, but raised in the North. We do have summer snows. So yes, I have seen and lived through snow.”

“Then you know how very little thrives in the ice,” the warg said.

“What Orell means, my lady,” Val cut in, “is that in a land covered by snow the whole time, we survive on few plants and grains, mostly meat. Meat needs to be hunted. Our people are harsh and tough, we have to be if we wish to survive.”

“We are harsh and tough in the Iron Islands as well,” Theon informed with his smirk.

“Yes,” Dany agreed, rolling her eyes, “you prefer to invade the mainland and steal, reave, and rape.”

“We Do Not Sow,” he said simply and shrugged.

“Is that a saying?” Val asked.

“House words,” Dany explained. “Each House has their own words, like a motto. House Greyjoy’s is ‘We Do Not Sow’, House Stark’s is ‘Winter Is Coming’.”

“I don’t think I ever learnt what are the words of House Starling,” Theon said.

“‘We Persevere’,” Dany replied.

The ironborn laughed exuberantly. “That’s a well-given ‘fuck you’, coming from you. How did our fat king receive that?”

Dany shrugged. She had never even considered what Robert Baratheon would think, as the message had never been intended for him. Though she supposed it worked just as well.

“Jon mentioned he was given his House and lands by the King,” Val said, nodding to Tormund. “Why would the King be upset? It seems fitting for a man who fights as well as Jon.”

Dany stiffened, an ugly feeling blossoming in her chest. “You had many fights along the way, my lady?” she asked.

“A couple of wights on the night after Ghost left, that’s all,” Val said. “But Tormund and Orell were the ones there when the White Walker attacked. And this one here,” she nodded towards the redhead again, “won’t stop talking about it. It’s high praise for a stubborn warrior like Tormund.”

“The lordling knows his way in a fight, that’s for sure. That sword of his in a nice blade as well. That’s a man to be proud of following.”

“I’m sure your men agree that Jon is a very good fighter, my lady,” Val said and this time Dany couldn’t hide her displeasure.

“ _Lord Starling_ is an anointed knight, celebrated in tourneys. The whole realm recognises his skill in battle.”

Val finally noticed her blunder. She was so used to the familiarity of her people and they had been travelling together in such informal way that she hadn’t given much thought to how things would be different now they were in a castle with stuffed nobles. Gods, she knew nothing of southern politics, but Mance had warned her that distance was always best.

Theon laughed loudly. “You know, Dany, green is not your colour!”

“You were talking about this Iron Islands of yours — do you mean that rape is allowed in the south?” Orell asked with haste, changing topics.

“If the man wishes to lose his parts when caught,” Dany said, “otherwise, our King is the fiercest condemner of rape.”

“We have your brother to thank for that,” Theon said and everyone in hearing range froze. Every person from south of the Wall knew only too well what he meant and silence took over the room.

“You will not speak ill of my brother,” Daenerys spat through her teeth, clutching her fork so tightly her knuckles went white. The Free Folk only watched, curious.

“It’s not speaking ill if it is the truth. Your big brother took and raped— gaaah!” Theon yelled out, recoiling back when a dagger sunk into the table right next to where his hand had been resting.

“I told you to mind your mouth, Greyjoy,” Addam said with a cold voice and stony expression. Dany could finally see why, skilled as he was, he was called the deadliest of her father’s Kingsguards: there was nothing of the easy-going — though perhaps a bit haunted — man she knew in his expression now. “You are speaking about the former Prince of Dragonstone and the lady sister to the Warden of the North in a manner not suitable to polite company. Shut your trap or I shall help you with it.”

“I… I only… the entire realm…”

“Lyanna Stark’s honour and reputation is above reproach, do you hear me?” Addam insisted, biting his tongue to keep from speaking too much, and the ironborn only nodded, suddenly paling even more.

“Why is my lady sister’s name being mentioned?” Ned asked from behind the knight. The silver direwolf sat next to him, his blue eyes fixed on the troublemaker.

“Greyjoy has a loose tongue. I was setting it straight. Won’t happen again, will it?” Addam asked and Theon only shook his head, whiter than the snow outside. “Good,” he finished, taking his dagger from where it had been deeply embedded in the table and giving it a pointed twirl before replacing it on his belt.

“Lady Val,” Ned called after a moment, swallowing any comment that would make an awkward situation even worse. “When you are finished with your meal, if you are not overtired, I would hear your good-brother’s terms.”

“Of course,” she said, standing up, “lead the way.”

Ned nodded, but then turned to Addam. “On that note… I wished to… _talk_ with Jon about… about one thing or another tomorrow. If… if you would like to be there when I do.”

Addam blinked, his lips parting in shock. He could scarcely believe his own ears. “Yes,” he said, “yes, I would like to be there.”

Ned nodded then left the dining hall, leading the three Free Folk to his solar, where Benjen was waiting for them. Once they were all comfortably sitting, Val begun to expose Mance’s terms and demands. Ned heard attentively.

“You said Mance Rayder is on his way for a negotiation?” he asked and she nodded. “Then I shall think over what you have brought me while we wait for his arrival. You are, meanwhile, to be our honoured guests.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark, you are most kind,” Val said. “Please, do feel free to ask me any lingering questions.”

Ned nodded and asked a guard to show the three Free Folk to their rooms, where they would finally be able to rest.

“What do you make of it?” Benjen asked.

“That Mance Rayder is either delusional or he is testing us,” Ned answered with a sigh. “He wants asylum in our lands, yet he does not wish to yield his power. He wants to live in the Seven Kingdoms, yet he will not recognise the authority of the Iron Throne. He must be jesting.”

“Well, don’t hate me, but he won’t be living _in_ the Seven Kingdoms. The Watch functions apart of the throne.”

“Aye, it does, but it is still part of the realm. We can’t have a foreign king here without properly bending the knee or acknowledging the authority of the Iron Throne. It would cause unprecedented unrest.”

“You are right, obviously. What are you going to do?”

“I think his request for a castle and some sort of leadership is reasonable. We cannot forget that the Free Folk will be here to function as sort of an army for the Watch.”

“What would Robert say?” Benjen asked.

Ned snorted. “He would likely ask for more wine, it’s all he asks for these days,” he muttered angrily.

“Why, brother, are you disillusioned?”

“You and Lyanna were right, is that what you want to hear, Benjen?” he exhaled heavily. “I was so busy looking at the boy I knew that I didn’t notice the man he had grown up to be. Lyanna warned me and I didn’t listen. I should have… If I had…”

“Stop, Ned,” Benjen said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

“If I hadn’t suggested the betrothal…”

“Don’t be naïve, big brother, please. It was _not_ your suggestion that brought father’s attention to Robert Baratheon. Do you really think the Warden of the North needed the help of his second son to think of a betrothal for his daughter?” Ned didn’t reply and Benjen frowned. “Ned, have you really been blaming yourself for that all these years?”

“It was…”

“Old Gods in their trees, Ned! I cannot believe this! Do you ever _not_ blame yourself for something?”

Ned blushed deeply. “Moving on, I have been thinking of something since I left the capital, something I am quite certain the Lord Commander might agree to, now that he will have men to fight for him.”

“Really, brother?” Benjen said, but Ned only raised an eyebrow. The younger brother rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, have it your way, but don’t think this argument is over. Tell me, what’s your plan?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Margaery ruffled through her trunk, looking for yet another pair of woollen leggings. She had known it would be cold, but she hadn’t expected it would feel like this. She was a child of summer, never through real winter, as the weather at the Reach was more than pleasant, so she was certainly not used to this.

“Wait, so you broke the betrothal?” Garlan asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, brother, of course I haven’t.”

“But do you want to?”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Men,” she cursed under her breath. “Of course I don’t want to. Did you really think I would have come all this way only to tell him it was over?”

“I really don’t understand women,” Garlan said, shrugging. “But I see how Grandmother always gets what she wants, so I know better than to underestimate you.”

“Oh, sweet brother, you have no idea how straightforward we are, really.” Before he could reply, however, there was a knock on the door. Margaery smiled lazily as Garlan rolled his eyes before going to the door. “Who is this?” she called.

“It’s Robb,” he said through the door and Garlan opened it. “Oh. I'm…”

“I'm Garlan Tyrell, Lord Robb.”

“Oh, of course. How do you fare, Lord Garlan?”

“Well, thank you. A long voyage, but enough adventures to fill my time.”

“Aye, I'm certain…” Robb fidgeted. “I would like to speak with my betrothed if it would be possible.”

“Are we still betrothed?” Margaery asked softly, biting back an eyeroll at Garlan’s comic face behind Robb’s back.

“I would like us to be,” the northerner said, offering the direwolf necklace. “If you would have me.”

“Well,” she said, not moving to take the jewel, “I suppose that after I have travelled this far, I should at least listen to you.” She threw her brother a meaningful side glare.

“I'm not sure this would be best,” he thankfully played along. “My lady sister deserves better than empty apologies, Lord Robb.”

“I know, my lord. I would like to try.”

“Let him, Garlan. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Father.” And she turned around to look at the fireplace. Garlan nodded and left the room.

“I’m…” Robb started. “I don’t know where to begin. I just… I was a fool, Margaery, and it was nothing to do with you. I didn’t think to inform you, not because of you, never because I don’t trust you, but because I… I am still learning.” He exhaled. “I can't promise I shall never fail you again, but I can only promise I will try. I will try my hardest, every day, to be true and faithful to you, to respect you and how much I love you.” She gasped. “You said you gave me your heart. But you were wrong to think I didn’t care about it enough to keep it from harm. Because the truth is that I am the realm’s biggest fool for not realising until today that you stole my heart as well, ran away, and hid it within your loving care. And I couldn’t be gladder for it.”

She felt tears fill her eyes and finally accepted the necklace he still offered. When its weight finally settled back around her neck, she turned around and pulled him down for a deep kiss, teasing him, hearing him groan at the sensation.

“We…” he mumbled after a few moments, coming up for air. “We shouldn’t…” he said, though his hands pulled her ever closer, encroaching further under the wraps of her cloak.

“How can you dishonour me when I hold your heart and you hold mine?”

Robb was certain there was a flaw in her logic, but right in that moment, he was beyond caring.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jeor Mormont was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples. Castle Black was overflowing with visiting nobles and their escorts. He would be upset with the income of visitors and the chaos they caused when it came to accommodations if it weren’t for the supplies they had brought with them. For even if they had more mouths to feed, their stores would be full for an entire year or more. He was also having to deal with the discontent of his master-at-arms.

“It is a mad plan, Lord Commander!” Ser Alliser insisted.

“So you have said and have been saying ever since Lord Robb and Lord Starling first presented it, the days before we left, and every moment since I have returned,” Mormont bit back. “I have not and I will not change my mind, Ser. You are bordering on insubordination.”

“It’s wrong, my lord,” Marsh muttered.

“Unnatural,” Yarwyck agreed.

“This is an aberration!” Ser Alliser exclaimed. “A betrayal of the Night's Watch values to consort with our enemy.”

“In the name of all the gods in this wretched land, man!” Mormont punched his desk. “It is not possible, it simply cannot be, that you have not realised that the enemy is different! Our enemy are the Others and because they have retreated into their frozen lairs we found nothing to fight but the wildlings! Maester Aemon has the right of it, they are the same as us, they only happened to be further north when one of us came and built this fucking Wall!” He stood up, reached for a horn and drained in one gulp. “But let’s say, for the purpose of this argument, that the wildlings are the enemy. I prefer to think that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I would rather work with wildlings than have them become a part of the army of the dead. You have not seen a White Walker, Ser, trust me, you would easily agree.”

“After all the brothers we have lost, after all that we have suffered…” Ser Alliser tried again.

“I am a Northerner, Ser,” Mormont reminded him. “Me and mine have suffered far more and for far longer because of wildling invasions. But as it is now, the Others are encroaching on their territory and they _will_ move south before they surrender to the dead. And the Watch simply does not have enough men to stop them. Hold them back for a handful of days, perhaps, but not for long. I have no intention to fight a losing battle.”

“I see you have made your decision,” the southerner said.

“I have.”

“Then you leave us no other choice, Old Bear.”

Mormont frowned, put down his horn of ale, and begun to turn around, but he was too slow. By the time he was facing his men, he heard a cry of warning and all he saw was a flash of metal before chaos descended.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jon made his way to the Lord Commander’s solar, thinking over his arguments to the whole dragonglass trade. The Watch was likely to accept, as they would have enough men and people farming once the wildlings settled in the Gift and the weapons would be very precious to them.

He heard the raised voices as soon as he turned into the right corridor. He frowned but continued on his way. The door to the Lord Commander’s solar was open and his hand went to Longclaw in an automatic gesture as he heard a blade unsheathed.

“You have betrayed the Watch, my lord,” Jon heard, hurrying the last few paces. “We do this for the Watch.”

“Watch out!” Jon called as he burst into the room, seeing Mormont with his back turned to the other men.

Chaos descended onto the room. The Lord Commander had no weapons, as he hadn’t expected his own men to turn on him, not in his own solar. The other men expected to fight an unarmed, ambushed man, so they had only daggers. Ser Alliser was quick enough to pull out his sword and took over once Jon pushed Yarwick away, clinging to a clearly broken wrist. Their swords crossed with a clang. The older man was indeed a good and experienced fighter, but after growing up under Ser Rodrick’s tutelage, Jon trained everyday with Arthur Dayne. Combined with a few decades less, it was an unfair advantage, and he was gaining ground too fast. Then a fifth man jumped from the back of the room, where Jon hadn’t seen him, and tackled him to the ground. Jon lost his footing for a moment, but it was enough for the brother to grab him from the back, forcing him onto his knees, and for Ser Alliser to point his sword to the lord’s neck.

“Will you kill an unarmed man, Ser Alliser? I thought knights had honour,” he spit out. Fallen behind his desk, the Lord Commander was lying forgotten, groaning in pain.

“Oh, you have some cheek, bastard,” Thorne said and Jon bristled, groaning as the brother holding him twisted his arm more sharply. “You dare ruin the honour of a princess and you come to speak about it. You, Lord Snow, are the bastard of a traitor. You deserve a treacherous death. You have meddled enough. I thought you were shielded, but now… now is my chance to defend the glory and honour of House Targaryen.”

“The only reason Robert Baratheon allowed Daenerys to live and then become lady to a castle was because of our marriage. You kill me, you kill her.”

A sinister smile spread on the man’s face. “I have seen how her men follow her. She will be a great ruler one day, I'm certain, when her honour is repaired and she is restored to her family’s power. You… you, Lord Snow, are a hindrance. An obstacle to her greatness. And it was your mad ravings that got the Lord Commander to betray the Watch. So, when I do this,” he slid his sword down to rest on top of Jon’s heart, “I do this for the Watch. And I do this for House Targaryen.”

Jon felt the blade pierce his skin and pain explode and haze his senses. His blood boiled with fiery pain and froze with cold fury. He heard the howl of a wolf and the roar of a dragon, two beasts competing for space. His arms were released and he fell down like a cut marionette, blood oozing out of his chest as his life faded away. The dull, dirty ceiling of the solar faded to whooshing white and black and somewhere he had the fleeting thought that Ghost was coming. The howling and roaring became louder, then his vision went red, as if a ruby were dancing in front of his eyes, and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of winter roses.

“Daenerys,” he whispered with his last breath. _Lyanna. Little Addam_ , he thought as darkness finally took him.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

In the Citadel in Oldtown, thousands of white ravens flew away to announce the end of summer.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hiding behind Ghost*  
> Hiiiii!!!  
> Ok, please don't hate me! This was necessary for plot reasons, even if this Jon didn't need a "get out of NW" card  
> Also, some of you have noticed that this is the last chapter: don't worry, I don't plan on stopping here. However, for neatness' sake I've decided do split the fic so it'll make for easier chapter surfing. This first part marked Summer and next part will be Autumn. I promise next chapter will come next week as schedule :D  
> Please, do leave your thoughts here, as well as CONSTRUCTIVE criticism!
> 
> I'd also like to ask people to include Allegra in your prayers and good wishes. She's a fellow Jonerys shipper who's been in an accident and though it's serious, I have every confidence she will recover and soon be back shipping and expecting season 8 with the rest of us! Hang in there, sweetie, we can't wait until you're well again :D


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